


friends!lock

by NobodyOfficial



Category: Friends TV, Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Comedy, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/F, F/M, Fluff, Friends AU, Johnlock - Freeform, Kid!Lock, M/M, Marriage, Obviously for Mycroft, Romance, Some angst, Weight Issues, a lot of Mystrade trash, at times - Freeform, friends pilot with Sherlock characters, greg has a crush, insecure!Mycroft, like uni!lock, lonely!sherlock, mystrade, now starring Louis moffat, teen!lock
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-25
Updated: 2017-03-11
Packaged: 2018-08-10 23:23:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 37,671
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7865512
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NobodyOfficial/pseuds/NobodyOfficial
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Friends episodes, but with Sherlock characters!</p><p>Ross is Sherlock.<br/>Rachel is John.<br/>Monica is Mycroft.<br/>Chandler is Greg.<br/>Phoebe is Jim.<br/>Joey is Irene (it will work, I promise!)</p><p>Note: EACH CHAPTER CAN BE READ AS A STAND ALONE STORY.</p><p>I'm so sorry this hasn't been updated in ages. I promise that one day I will finish the two request I have, but unfortunately that pathetic excuse of a fourth season has left me with no motivation to write about these characters, I'm really sorry. I really appreciate all the hits this has and your continued enthusiasm <3 If you want to read something that I am actually updating then my Wish I Was Here fanfic (it's on this account) is from a very tiny fandom, is made mostly of OCs, and it's about a genius who takes drugs and his loving boyfriend who does NOT feel the need to basically 'no homo' him or beat him up. It also has a grumpy bisexual who is actually bisexual, and more representation in one paragraph than there is in the whole of BBC Sherlock. Thank you for your patience, sorry again!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. S1E1

**Author's Note:**

> This is literally just the first episode of friends but with Sherlock characters. There's a lot of dialogue, sorry about that, but it is a TV show. This story only contains: -one slightly graphic paragraph -references to sex -references to a homophobic character but nothing actually mentioned. This is the first thing I've posted on here, sorry if I disappoint.

Mycroft Holmes took a sip of coffee, a dark yet sweet mixture that made his lips tingle with the heat. He remembered a different kind of sensation on his lips, still tingly, but not as sharp, more a dull ache. Bruises left from passionate kisses, hard and often rushed, but something he could never say no to. 

As the sensation began to fade he raised the mug to his lips for another scolding mouthful, only to suddenly notice all eyes were on him. His cheeks reddened. "You were... Saying?"

"I was saying," Irene Adler purred, leaning slightly closer to Mycroft than he was comfortable with, "what's this man like? Surely he must be crazy to go on a date with you!" She paused dramatically, ruby red lips pouted slightly, then, "Does he eat chalk!"

Mycroft frowned, ready to launch in to a heated argument on why it was unhealthy to eat chalk, when Greg Lestrade interrupted, "What if he has a hump on his back? Like the hunchback of Notre Dame!" He sent Mycroft a cheeky grin to show that he didn't mean it, pushing a spiky fringe from his eyes as he did so, but still Mycroft felt bitter. He was excited for this, not that he'd admit it, and every time he thought of Paul (his date) his heart fluttered a little. Really it was quite an inconvenience.

"Oh! What if he's a serial killer?" Jim Moriarty piped up, a little late to the conversation, but clearly distracted by his thoughts, as usual. His large, chocolaty eyes were now alight with fascination. Mycroft purposefully ignored him, instead shifting his weight around awkwardly on the sofa and taking another sip of coffee. Oh, that glorious burn...

As soon as the moment faded he brought himself to his senses. He would NOT be doing that with Paul. "It's not really a date," he said airily, waving a hand slightly to show he was being casual. That's what people did, wasn't it? When they were being casual? Hand gestures. "And there will be no sex." His voice was firm to begin with, until he realised no one had asked about sex at all. He squirmed and rapidly reached for a chocolate muffin on the table, only to realise Sherlock wasn't present, therefore there was no one to break the awkward silence by reminding him of his diet. Panicked, he ate the muffin anyway.

Realising how stressed his friend must be (Mycroft never ate anything, least of all chocolate muffins) Greg launched in to a story about a weird dream he'd had last week; something inappropriate about being naked and having to answer a phone that was attached to a part of his body where he'd really rather it wasn't. Mycroft could tell he was making it up, but as he licked chocolate from his bottom lip he thought he'd never been more grateful for an excuse to stop talking. Plus, he was fairly certain it wasn't him who'd paid for that muffin...

~

Sherlock closed his brother's umbrella, gently shaking it over the doormat and watching the rain drops race to the bottom. He could've stood there for hours, transfixed, but Mycroft called him over with a worried tone in his voice. Meddling older brother, Sherlock thought bitterly. What did he know about heartbreak? He happily gave himself up to anyone who'd have him, but he'd never, ever open up and share any intimacies with them. Because that's what Sherlock had done; opened up. Night after night he'd laid beside this man in bed, whispering softly until the early hours of the morning, when Sherlock would crawl back in to his own bed, tired but happy, an electric buzz in his veins. He'd loved him. He'd loved him and...

"Sherlock?" Mycroft was calling him again and now everyone was staring. He ambled over, trailing the umbrella. It was quickly snatched away by his brother, who sighed, "Don't do that," without any real malice. The umbrella was quickly deposited and Mycroft was awkwardly but lovingly wrapping his arms around Sherlock's shoulders.

"I loved him," Sherlock whispered, holding back tears, but barely. "I loved and he just lead me on like that... Lead me on for his personal gain and he wasn't even... But I am, and now he's gone." Sherlock paused, anger replacing the sadness that had filled his mind. "To hell with him!" He yelled suddenly, making Mycroft jump back. "To hell with him. I'm fine on my own. Alone is what I have now. Alone... Alone will protect me."

Sherlock slumped on to the sofa, not feeling so great about being alone at all. Irene quickly placed her hand on his thigh. "Come on, forget about him now Sherlock," she murmured. She had a way of sounding flirty with everyone, even if she wasn't interested. "I'll take you to a strip club." She raised an eyebrow.

"You don't like men," Sherlock replied, bored with all the talk about him. He supposed he'd missed the opportunity to tease his brother about his new date.

"I wish I was a lesbian," Greg proclaimed suddenly. Everyone laughed, but Sherlock was silently grateful. Greg was great at doing that.

~

The door to the cafe flew open and John Watson rushed inside. He looked round desperately, searching for a ginger man in a fine suit. John spotted Mycroft peering over the back of a sofa, near the rear of the cafe, and hurried over, his rain-slick pants sticking to his legs. 

"Mycroft!" He exclaimed in relief. "I went up to your flat, you see, but then there was this girl, this really pretty girl, and I think she had a gun, but she said you might be here and you are-" He drew a deep breath. Everyone was silent for a moment, but John was finished talking, so in the end Mycroft stood up to introduce him.

"John Watson, these are my friends," he began. "Gregory Lestrade, who you may remember-" he pointed to an attractive young man perched on the arm of the sofa. John stared for a moment. "Irene Adler-" an equally attractive young woman was sat in an armchair at one end of the sofa. She threw John a flirty wink. "James Moriarty-" sat cross-legged on the floor was a young man in Westwood suit who didn't pay John any attention at all, due to the fact that he was carving a smiley face in to an apple. "And you must remember my brother, Sherlock." John frowned, but nodded firmly. The last time he'd seen Sherlock he'd been eighteen and leaving college. Sherlock had been an uninterested sixteen-year-old who certain did not want to spend time with his brother. He'd spent the whole time hiding behind his fringe. But now...

John held a hand out to Sherlock, completely ignoring the others. "Nice to see you again, Sherlock," he beamed.

"Likewise." The corners of Sherlock's mouth curled up ever so slightly. He shifted over a little so that John could sit down, isolating Mycroft to a nearby chair, then everyone was silent. John knew they were all staring at his soaking wet wedding suit, but still didn't say anything.

"So are you going to tell us about the suit or is this a guessing game?" Greg sighed eventually. John grimaced, but nodded. He'd just burst in to these people's lives (expecting to stay), they deserved an explanation.

"Well, it started when I left for Afghanistan, ten months ago. I'd proposed to Mary and we were going to get married when I came back. Then I came back and she was pregnant. Wasn't mine, of course, if it was I would've come back to a baby. I was furious, but I calmed down and the wedding was still on-"

"I don't want to hear your life story," Jim groaned. "You're so ordinary."

"Shut up," Sherlock snapped, allowing John to continue.

"Anyway," John mumbled, even less eager to share his story, "this morning. I was just stood waiting, waiting to go to the church in the dining room of our house, when I saw a gravy boat. And all I could imagine was five years from now, at Christmas, with that gravy boat on the table and my abominable fiancée and a child that isn't ours! I didn't want that. I didn't want her and I didn't want someone else's child and I didn't want that gravy boat goddammit! So now I'm here."

"And what, might I ask, are you doing here?" Mycroft said, before anyone could react to the story.

"Well, I was thinking that maybe... I'd live with you?" It was more a question than a statement. John hadn't seen Mycroft for a long time, but once they'd been best friends. He'd had another friend at medical school, Mike Stamford, but John had thought he'd be too settled with his life for an impromptu flat mate. Mycroft always seemed too busy to settle down.

"Ah, yes. Your 'friend who wasn't invited to the wedding," Mycroft snapped, rolling his eyes. He was good and ready to say 'no' to John, not needing any more drama in his life, when Sherlock sent him a pleading look. Mycroft's icy heart melted. "I suppose you can stay until you're back on your feet."

~

Greg lightly elbowed Mycroft. "What's she saying now?"

"It's like a colloquial version of 'how dare you sleep with my boyfriend, you slut!'" Mycroft translated. Greg was impressed. It wasn't so bad, he supposed, having the TV in Spanish when your best friend spoke it fluently.

Suddenly the characters found themselves at the top of a long, spiral staircase, face to face. "Push her down the stairs!" Jim yelled suddenly. Greg laughed and joined in. 

"Push her down the stairs! Push her down the stairs!" Quickly everyone was yelling and clapping, a chorus of 'push her! Push her down the stairs!' erupting from the living room.

"Shut! Up!" John suddenly yelled from the kitchen. The shouting dyed down while all eyes turned to John, almost accusingly. "I'm on the phone," he added, far more calmly this time. Mycroft nodded and everyone turned back to the Spanish TV. In the few minutes they'd been turned around someone had seemingly died, someone else had got a dog and a main character had become pregnant. Greg didn't even bother to ask Mycroft, and instead listened to John on the phone.

"I don't love you Mary! I... I don't want to marry you... I just want to be alone for a bit, I want to do something for myself. I left school and went to uni and left uni to do further medical training and I left medical training and became a doctor and I stopped doing that to go to war and then I was coming home to marry you and I don't want to! ... Well yeah, there's also the fact that you're pregnant with someone else's baby, but that's not even the half of it... Of course I have somewhere to stay, I'm staying with Mycroft-"

"He wasn't at your wedding because John didn't invite him!" Mycroft yelled loudly, hoping that Mary would hear.

"I know, I know I don't have any money," John continued. "But I'm certified to be a doctor, something'll come up... Oh screw you too!" He hung up loudly and Mycroft winced, probably, Greg though, in the hopes that his phone wasn't broken. John sadly shuffled over to the sofa and planted himself between Greg and Jim. Jim patted his shoulder lightly, then began to hum 'Favourite Things' rather loudly. John frowned. "Why are you humming?"

"Oh, because I don't know the words," Jim grinned. Sherlock laughed and John had to smile a little.

"I'll find you a pretty girl," Irene smirked. "I know all the pretty girls in this neighbourhood." She leaned closer to John. "And they all know me." The buzzer rang out through the apartment. 

"Saved by the buzzer," Greg sighed in relief, getting up to let whoever it was in. "Hey, Mycroft's apartment," he said in to the intercom.

"Hi, it's Paul," came the reply. Greg rolled his eyes.

"Oh, well hi, Paul. Come on up." He reluctantly let him in.

Mycroft got up and headed to the door. "I look ok, right? I think I'm ready to go, am I ready to go?" He looked at Greg expectantly.

"You look really nice," Greg smiled softly. He was about to add how lucky he thought Paul was, when there was a knock at the door and Mycroft opened it. Greg stepped back until he was among the cluster of people who'd gathered around the kitchen table. Sherlock gently patted his shoulder.

John wriggled through the small crowd until he was beside Greg. "So um... Mycroft's-" he started.

"Yup," Greg nodded.

"Or is he-"

"No."

"But I thought only Sherlock-"

"Nope, and Mycroft."

"And how come I never-"

"Scared."

"So this is his-"

"Yep."

"But you like him?"

"Y-No!" Greg caught himself. He could pass it off as being dazed. "No, not like you're implying, anyway. He's Sherlock's brother, no way."

"I'll help you stay and unpack if you like," Mycroft was suddenly saying to John, hopefully unaware of their previous conversation. John looked at the hopeful man stood by the door and Mycroft's shy smile. 

"No way, I'll be fine. Go have fun," he said firmly.

"Thank God because I didn't mean it, see you later." With a quick wave he pulled Paul out the door, leaving Irene and Jim chatting excitedly (apparently Mycroft had had his eye on this guy for a while) and Sherlock, John and Greg stood silently, staring at the now closed door.

~

"So John, what are you doing later," Sherlock asked. John shrugged. He should be on the plane right now, heading for... He didn't know, some place Mary had picked out. Of course. 

"Not going on my honey moon, that's for sure," he grumbled.

"Oh," Sherlock nodded as if he understood. "Was it a nice wedding?"

"What?" 

"Was it going to be a nice wedding?" Sherlock corrected awkwardly.

"I suppose," John sighed. "At least when we planned it, it was." 

Several moment of silence passed before Jim whispered, "Awkward," not so quietly, so Sherlock asked,

"Want to come over to mine? Not very exciting but Greg and Irene are helping me put some new shelves up, you don't have to help." He smiled at John.

"I would help," Jim giggled. "But... I don't want to!" Sherlock glared at him, but John chuckled lightly.

"Thanks Sherlock, but I think I'll go sleep for a bit." John felt terrible when he saw the disappointed look on Sherlock's face, but he knew that being there with two people he didn't know and one he hadn't seen since he was eighteen would only make it awkward. He made an effort to give Sherlock his biggest smile as he left.

~

"This can't be right." Sherlock threw the instructions down on the floor. "I refuse to read this." It wasn't so much that the instructions were wrong, he understood them perfectly, it more the fact that he didn't want new shelves. He wanted his old shelves back and his old stereo and his old roommate. He wished he'd never said 'I'm in love with you'. Wished he'd never heard the door slam. Wished that the next time someone knocked on it it wasn't to get his stuff back. For a moment Sherlock even wished he was a girl. Then he looked at Irene and decided maybe not.

"How are you doing, Greg?" He asked. Greg had built half of the shelf on his own while Irene watched him. As he heard Sherlock speak he looked desperately at the part in his hand, then threw it in to the plant pot beside him, hoping Sherlock hadn't seen. Irene burst out laughing.

"Done mate," Greg grinned sheepishly.

~

"My ex wife, she always said she was going to the dentist, all the time! I started to get a bit suspicious after a while, especially when we went together and turns out she's needed a filling for three months!"

Mycroft leaned on the table and seductively pulled on his bottom lip. Was that too suggestive? He stopped, then got restless and ran a hand through his ginger curls. Was that too suggestive too? He didn't want to have a sex on a first date! At least, that's what he always told himself was morally correct, because he almost always did. What else was there to do though? Open up to someone? Disgusting! Cuddle? And let them touch him!

"Mycroft?"

"Oh, sorry," Mycroft laughed, embarrassed. "It didn't go quite like that for my brother, but that's how he feels. What can I do?" He cared a lot about his brother, although it was a weakness he tried to hide. If Mycroft knew where this man had moved to he might've found himself in a back alley with his knees shattered by now.

"Well, when my wife left me it helped to break something of hers-"

"Her ribs?" Mycroft beamed excitedly.

"No," Paul chuckled. "Just her watch. But that would've been good too." Mycroft's head spun. He really liked this man.

~

"Mary, I just wanted to say sorry. I acted rashly earlier, running away from you. That must've hurt you. I don't mean I still want to marry, I'm just sorry. Mycroft's friends are really nice and I'm actually really looking forward to staying-" the phone beeped loudly and John cursed. 

'Your message time has run out.'

~

"I think he was the only one." It's only as Sherlock says it that the pain really hits him. He's never liked anyone like that before. It wasn't sexual attraction, it was something purer, more intimate. It was soft whispers in the darkness, shoulders touching as they watched a film, bright smiles as they saw each other. At least, that's what Sherlock felt was intimate. To him that was a friend thing. Sherlock gently covered his heart.

"I'm sure he wasn't," Irene sympathised. "I thought that with the first girl I was with, but look at me now!"

"Your first girlfriend was when you were twelve Irene, that doesn't count! This man was really special to Sherlock, he felt something," Greg scolded. "You'll find someone else, Sherlock."

"I don't know if I want to," he sighed.

~

Paul was staring to get intimate; and Mycroft was starting to get scared. He wasn't asking Mycroft inappropriate questions, or touching him in inappropriate places, but he was talking about when his wife left him and Mycroft had the feeling he'd be expecting something deep back. 

"But now... Not, I can't tell you that," Paul chuckled, blushing slightly.

"Go on, you can tell me," Mycroft urged. The longer they talked about Paul the better.

"I can't, this is more fifth date stuff," Paul admitted, smiling warmly at Mycroft. He blushed, butterflies swirling about his stomach. A fifth date sounded quite nice. Maybe by the fifth date Mycroft would even start to tell him something about himself.

"So... There's going to be a fifth date?" He cursed himself for giggling like a school girl.

"I'd like that," Paul purred. "Would you like that?" Mycroft nodded. "Alright then..." Paul paused. "I haven't had sex since my wife left me." Mycroft choked on his wine, but tried to look natural.

"And whe-when was that?" He stuttered.

"Two years ago," Paul admitted softly. Mycroft thought about how he was in bed. Awkward. Fumbling. And shy shy shy. It wouldn't be bad for someone else to be like that for once. So when Paul asked, "Still want that fifth date?" Mycroft of course replied,

"Yes."

~

John watched the couple on TV sharing soft, passionate kisses on their wedding day. Could he have had that with Mary? He doubted it, he hadn't loved her when he left. But had she loved him? He remembered meeting her for the first time, eyes locking across the room, soft, gentle kisses at the bar, harder, more passionate kisses outside his flat. His heart ached for that, but it wasn't what he'd had when he left. Maybe they'd just broken up, but their relationship was over a long time ago.

~

Sherlock wasn't really listening as Greg and Irene chatted. He was staring at a wine stain on the floor, only a drop really, and remembering. They were both a little drunk. They were giggling. Everything looked beautiful and warm to Sherlock, especially him. His hand knocked the wine glass. Sherlock bent to wipe it up, and when he sat up he was so close Sherlock swore they were about to kiss. But instead he pressed his forehead against Sherlock's, and that was ok too. It felt warm and tingly. Sherlock had wanted that kiss so badly. He still did.

"No one else will ever like me!" He exclaimed suddenly. "And I'll never like anyone else. What if he was my one chance? What if I can never have anyone again?"

"You just have to try sweetie," Irene said gently.

"What about John?" Greg added with a flirty wink. Sherlock shrugged, but thought about John. He'd always liked John a little. He liked to imagine kissing him when he was teenager, but he'd never thought anything of that. He'd sways tried to do things to please his brother's friend, but never thought he'd be interested. Sherlock thought about kissing John again. Not as teenagers, but now, John dressed in his fine wedding suit, no! his military outfit...

~

"I am so happy not be using a camp stove," John beamed as he made coffee. The kitchen was a little cramped, a small table taking up most of the space, but anything beat the battlefield. He'd been surprised to wake up and find Greg and Irene already in the kitchen, but supposed it was a regular occurrence around here. Pouring three cups of coffee, he passed one each to Greg and Irene. 

"Thanks," they mumbled sleepily, taking a sip. As soon as John turned his back to get his own cup they quickly poured the liquid (you couldn't call that coffee) in to a small plant pot on the table.

Mycroft's bedroom door opened and he stepped out, dressed in underwear and an old T-shirt. He was promptly followed by Paul, who was fully dressed but rather untidily.

This was very different to how John remembered Mycroft. He'd always been a little shy, and believe that sex should only be with 'girls' he really liked. Plus, John doubted anyone would even give Mycroft a second glance at high school. He was quite sweet and funny, but in hight school it's all about having the hottest date. And that was certainly not Mycroft.

Everyone shuffled closer to the door as Mycroft and Paul disappeared in to the hallway, watching as they kissed softly. "Not a real date my ass," Greg mumbled.

"That's a little slutty, even for you Mycroft," Irene smirked as he ambled back in to the kitchen.

"You can't talk," he snapped, but a second later that silly grin was back on his face.

"I'm going to work," Greg sighed, grabbing his brief case and hurrying out the door.

~

"I need a new job," John said, sitting down at the small kitchen table. Mycroft leaned against the kitchen counter, smiling stupidly, then he took a deep breath and regained his serious composure.

"Have you spoken to Mary?" He asked, the burst out in to a fit of giggles. John didn't mind. He didn't really want to talk about Mary and it was nice to see Mycroft so happy. John remembered him as quite a melancholy teen. 

"I should go to work," Mycroft mumbled when he'd finally calmed down. "I should go to work and not think about him all day." He paused for a moment, then began to laugh again.

"What?" John smirked, already knowing the answer.

"I just thought about him!" Mycroft spun around once, maybe looking for something or maybe just ecstatic, then hurried in to his room to get dressed.

"I'm going out," John murmured to Irene.

~

As Mycroft tucked yet another piece of paper neatly in to a file, someone say down on the corner of his desk. The whole room was filled with desks, set out in lines like soldiers, and Mycroft hated the openness of it. Anyone could come in! And they just had.

"Hey," Kate smirked down at him.

"Hello Kate," Mycroft smiled, surprisingly good natured considering he was at work. He hadn't stopped thinking about Paul all day and it probably showed on his face. Stupid emotions.

"Well, somebody got some! Spill." Kate liked to probe people for gossip, and naturally Mycroft would never speak to her, but today he felt practically giddy. Maybe he was coming down with something?

"Do you know Paul?" Mycroft asked.

"Know Paul?" Kate scoffed. "I take credit for Paul!"

"Excuse me?"

"He hadn't been active for two years until I came along, if you get my drift." She shot him a cheeky wink.

For a second Mycroft balled his hand up in to a fist, ready to knock Kate right through the floor and anyone else who dared come near him. But then he stopped, letting out a slow breath. His knees felt weak. His stomach hurt. He felt a headache coming on. Mycroft wasn't angry, he was sad and hurt and empty.

"What's wrong with me?" He whispered to himself.

~

"Of course it was a ruse, you really believed that?" Irene scoffed. They had once again congregated in the coffee house after work, Irene ecstatic that the great Mycroft Holmes had fallen for such a simple trick. If looks could kill Greg would be a murderer. 

"He wasn't trying to hurt you," Greg offered softly, wrapping an arm around Mycroft's shoulders. "He just wanted to make you feel special."

"I don't feel special," Mycroft snapped. "I just feel... Used." His head lolled against Greg's arm and he shivered. Mycroft felt warm and heavy against his side, but in a good way. "Is there something wrong with me?" Mycroft whispered, more to Greg than anyone else. "Why do I keep... Attracting terrible men?"

"Oh My," Greg sighed. "Of course there's nothing wrong with you. It's not your fault you only meet awful guys."

"You are a little slutty though," Irene added, unhelpfully. Jim hopped up to offer Mycroft a warm, which he reluctantly accepted, sending Irene in to a fit of giggles. "Oh, you fell for it!" She howled. Mycroft pushed her over the back of the sofa.

~

John slumped in to a chair beside Jim, in the small kitchen of what he now called his apartment. "When did it get so hard to find a job in London?" He grumbled. Well at least since I moved here, Jim thought. He remembered huddling in a tunnel with his brother, praying for the sun to rise. It never did much, praying, but it gave them hope.

"I remember how you feel," Jim nodded. "I was sixteen when I moved to London. My step dad had just killed my mum-" He remembered sleepless nights of screaming. Drifting off only to be woken up by a loud thump. Or a blow to the head. Trying to protect his brother. His brother trying to protect him. And blood. Thick, coppery blood. On the carpet. On the ceiling. On the knife...

Jim realised he'd paused for a long time. "Ah, but then of course I became a private therapist. A consulting therapist, if you will. I deal with people who have been through... Traumatic experiences." Chilling silence filled the room. No one even dared to breath.

"Aaanyway," Sherlock mumbled after a few minutes, gently placing a hand on Jim's shoulder. "Lighter topic, anyone?"

~

"I'm going back to my place," Sherlock mumbled, starting to get up off the sofa. Mycroft had been translating some Spanish television for them again, not that Sherlock needed it translated.

"Mm, you do that," Mycroft hummed. He quickly found a cushion hurtling towards his face. "Sherlock, you baby," he snapped, throwing the cushion right back. Sherlock wanted to be mad and start a full on wrestling match right there on the sofa, but he just didn't have it in him. Plus, he was fairly certain Mycroft would crush him, since even thought he'd lost a lot of weight he was still very tall and sturdy and unable to lose the last few pounds that would mean he was actually skinny.

"Oh, Mycroft," John said suddenly. He scooped something up off the floor then held it up; an expensive looking watch with leather straps. "Wasn't this Paul's?"

"Oh, yes. Just leave it where you found it," Mycroft said breezily. Then he got up and crushed it beneath the heel of his shoe, before slamming his bedroom door.

"Think someone just got a little closure," Sherlock smiled, sitting back down again. John nodded and smirked. They sat in silence for a moment before Sherlock pick the last cookie off the plate; Mycroft had been baking again. "Want to... Share?" He asked awkwardly. John nodded, so Sherlock snapped it in half and passed a piece to John (the bigger half. Mycroft always said that was a nice thing to do, but Sherlock had assumed that was just his perspective). 

"You know," Sherlock began as John started to eat his cookie. "When you were at high school, you and Mycroft, I always... Thought of you with great affection." John frowned. "No, no! Not like that!" He corrected quickly. "Genuinely, just affection. But I apologise for never engaging in conversation much, I always assumed you thought of me just as 'Mycroft's little brother.'"

"I did a little, I guess. But I thought you were sweet." Sherlock blushes slightly. If he'd been asked yesterday what John Watson though of him he would've doubted he knew he existed.

"So umm... Since there are very few people in the world I have ever cared for like that, I was wondering if... Some time, maybe in the future, I could arrange a social encounter for the two of us."

"You want to ask me on a date?" John spluttered. For a second Sherlock thought he was laughing, but then he noticed the slight blush on his cheeks and his difficulty to form a response. He was just thinking about it. "Yeah, I'd love that," he whispered eventually. Reaching out to gently touch Sherlock's knee, John mumbled a goodnight and disappeared in to his room, leaving Sherlock flabbergasted.

He'd said yes. Sherlock had spoken to a man, a man he liked, and he'd said yes! His knee still tingled from John's warm touch and he couldn't stop thinking about the beautiful pools of blue that were his eyes. He didn't dare get up, or his legs would turn to jelly.

Eventually Mycroft stepped out of his bedroom and caught sight of Sherlock, dazed on the sofa. He grinned and raised his eyebrows, then whistled a soft, two-note cat call before disappearing in to the bathroom.

~

"You can always come round to ours."

"You can always come round to ours."

"At least you won't have to translate the Spanish for me."

"At least you won't have to translate the Spanish for me."

"Thanks Gregory."

"Thanks Gregory."

"Will you stop that?" Mycroft snapped at Jim, who sniggered and leant back against Irene's chair. They were gathered in the coffee shop again, it what was a supposed celebration of John's new job.

Right in cue, John stepped up beside the sofa with a coffee pot in his hands. "Coffee, anyone?" He offered reluctantly.

"Did you make it?" Greg asked quickly, making Irene giggle to herself.

"No, I'm just serving it," John replied with a frown. Everyone sighed with relief and quickly coffee mugs were thrust in the air, with murmurs of 'me, please' and 'thanks mate'. John was about to turn away when Mycroft caught his eyes, gesturing for him to sit down on the sofa. 

"Come on, just for a minute," he smiled. John shrugged and sat down, a nice, warm feeling spreading through his chest. He felt included. Not sat on his own at a lunch table, or on a camp bed while everyone else was smoking, or just completely fazed out while wedding plans were made. He was part of something this time. Something nice. Greg quickly launched in to a new story:

"So I had this crazy dream..."


	2. S5 E8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, so this was my first ever request EVER from @valkyrieburning (sorry if it doesn't tag you? I can't really work this yet, please give me time!) but thank you so much I had so much fun writing this!
> 
> Sorry it's not Thanksgiving, but we really just don't have that here, and even if it was just Sherlock's family who decided to celebrate it, why is everyone else at their house? It shouldn't cock anything up though, because there aren't that many Christmas episodes, as far as I remember.
> 
> This chapter contains:  
> \- mentioned child abuse  
> \- hinted at murder  
> \- loss of limbs  
> \- issues with weight  
> \- and Mycroft suddenly realising he's very, very gay
> 
> One more thing: ~ is a time break and * is the end of a flashback ;)
> 
> Hope you like it, it's much longer than my first one!

Mycroft leaned his head against Greg's shoulder, hoping it looked friendly and not too romantic or sexual. He wrapped his arms gently around his waist and tucked his feet up beside him, then closed his eyes. No. No, that was too much. He put his feet down again and fidgeted, to make it look natural.

"Mycroft, I think you've killed us," John said loudly. He was sprawled across an arm chair, feet over one side, head resting on the other. Sherlock was sat by his head.

"I think I killed myself," Mycroft mumbled.

"I don't know what you're all complaining about, my brother's cooking is adequate at best," Sherlock piped up. Mycroft looked around for something to throw at his brother, but couldn't be bothered reaching down to pick up a slipper.

"That's because you never eat anything." John reached out to pat Sherlock on the head, and instead of recoiling, like he naturally would've done, he smiled slightly at the touch.

Jim reached a hand up to the table and grabbed the TV remote, then let it drop in to his lap. "Who wants to watch TV?" He asked brightly. There was a general mumble of agreement, so he pressed the power button. Nothing happened, but he _was_ pointing it at the skirting board. He angrily pressed it several more times.

"James, you have to point it at the TV," Mycroft said sleepily.

"Oh, well I guess we can't watch TV then," Jim frowned. He dropped the remote to the floor. Mycroft groaned. He'd have to get up now. Get up and walk. All the way to the kitchen. And wash dishes. He wanted to bury in to Greg's jumper and go to sleep, but he knew he couldn't do that here.

"How about this? What's everyone thankful for?" John asked.

"This beautiful winter," Irene smiled quickly, surprising everyone.

"That's sweet, Irene," Greg nodded.

"Well the other day I was walking down the street behind this pretty girl, and then all of a sudden this lovely December breeze came and blew her skirt right up!" Everyone rolled their eyes. "Oh, that reminds me!" Irene grinned. "I'm also thankful for thongs!"

~

"They're just so masterful, really quite a work of engineering. You'd think they were uncomfortable too, but they're not. And to see them on other people-"

"Are you aware you're still talking?" Greg demanded. Irene smirked, but shut up. Greg wanted everyone to go away. He loved his friends and he liked spending Christmas with them, but now he just wanted to fall asleep on the sofa with Mycroft sprawled out next to him. They didn't really get a chance to do anything like that, with their relationship still being a secret and all, but Greg ached for that kind of physical contact. The sex was good, and talking was nice, but Greg wanted to wrap his arms around Mycroft and say 'I love you'. Ok, maybe not that exactly, that would be awkward. 'I like you' might be a better option right now. He hurriedly pushed the thought from his mind.

"Anyone thankful for something other than thongs?" Mycroft asked sleepily, getting up off Greg's shoulder. Greg wanted to be relieved, maybe he'd stop thinking about saying 'those three words' to Mycroft now, but all he felt was cold. He wanted to pull Mycroft back against his side and hug him even tighter.

"Oh gee, I don't know," Sherlock hissed sarcastically. "I really don't know what I'm more thankful for. My divorce? Or my eviction?"

"Wow! And here was me thinking you wouldn't come up with anything," Jim quipped. Sherlock pulled a face at him across the room.

"This is the worst Christmas ever."

"Oh no!" Greg interrupted. "This is not the worst Christmas ever. I'm pretty sure I can top your worst Christmas!" Everyone groaned, shouts of, 'not this again!' and 'more turkey, Monsieur Greg?' filling the room. It had become a sort of joke among them now, and to be honest Greg wasn't even that hurt by it anymore. He could still remember how sick he'd felt at the time, how he'd never wanted Christmas to come ever again, but since then he'd had plenty of great Christmases, most of them with the people in this room now.

"I want to hear the story!" Irene shouted above everyone else. A huge groan went up. "It wouldn't be Christmas without Greg's Christmas story!" She argued. "It's tradition." Everyone quietened down, so Greg began.

*flashback*

Greg was nine years old and happily sat in their cramped kitchen, eating a slice of pie. It had been a good Christmas and he couldn't wait to go out the next day to play with his new football. His mother reached across the table suddenly and touched his arm. "Greg honey, just so you know, even though your father and I are getting a divorce-"

The pie stuck in Greg's throat. Divorce? His hand shook and he dropped his fork. Divorce? He hadn't heard anything of a divorce! He felt a strange heat behind his eyes and realised that he was about to cry, but he clenched his jaw and stared instead.

"We still love you very much. It's only that your father would rather sleep with our exchange student than me," she finished.

Horrified, Greg looked across the table at the language student who'd been staying with them for the past few months. He was mid to late twenties with thick, black hair and tanned skin. He was studying English, but spoke French with Greg's father a lot. Greg began to wonder what they'd been saying.

Noticing that Greg had been staring at him for a long time, the student picked up the turkey plate and offered it to him. "More turkey, Monsieur Greg?" He asked. Greg kicked away from the table and legged it to his room.

*

"Oh, come on! I've had worse Christmases than that," Jim groaned. He was remembering Christmases spent on the street with his brother. Numb fingers as they huddled under blankets in the doorways of shops, bread rolls stolen from shopping bags, begging for whatever money would come their way. And then his brother with a stick. Beating the man. Beating and beating until he wasn't moving. Fumbling fingers grabbing for his wallet then running as fast as they could... But he wasn't going to talk about that.

"Go on then," Greg urged.

*flashback to 1870*

Rain pelted down against the French battlefield, almost drowning out the sounds of war mere fields away. Blood coated Jim's hands as he worked on the patient, numb fingers struggling to work a needle and thread.

He was cold. He hadn't slept for days. The air all around smelt of festering flesh and charred bodies. Jim looked down at the man before him, prone on a pile of sheets. He would die, Jim decided. Even if he did the stitches just right, this man would die. All the same, he tried.

"Plus des bandages! J'ai besoin de plus des bandages!" Jim called out. There was no reply. He straightened, preparing to get his own bandages, when there was suddenly a horrible, sharp pain in his left shoulder, and he was tossed to the ground.

Shakily managing to regain his footing, Jim found that was now missing his left arm, blood pouring from the gaping wound. "Ah, quel dommage," he sighed.

*

"In this life, Jim," Sherlock said impatiently. John reached out to gently tousle Sherlock's curls. He could really appreciate them from up here in the chair, and he decided Sherlock must put an awful lot of effort in to them. He wondered who that was for.

"Ok, well if being an army doctor is the worst Christmas ever, I've got that one covered," John mumbled humourlessly. It was like Jim had told it, only less French and with less loss of limbs. For him, anyway. He'd had plenty of practise patching stumps.

John suddenly realised he had a tight fistful of Sherlock's hair and quickly let go of it. "Sorry," he mumbled, beginning to move his hand away. Sherlock didn't let him, reaching up and taking it in his own. No one commented on it.

"Oh! I know Mycroft's worst Christmas!" John remembered suddenly.

"Oh, yeah!" Jim chimed in. "When Irene got the turkey stuck on her head!"

*flashback*

Jim sauntered in to Mycroft's apartment, expecting to find him preparing Christmas dinner. Instead he was met with an eery silence and an empty turkey plate on the table. He could've sworn Mycroft was making a turkey for his parents this year. Jim shrugged and headed for the sofa.

"Hello?" An almost familiar voice rang out through the apartment, although it sounded slightly muffled and scared.

"Hello?" Jim called back, praying that he wasn't hearing things again.

"Jim!" The voice came again. "Oh, thank goodness! You've got to help me." Then Irene stepped out of the bathroom, with a huge, uncooked turkey on her head. Jim jumped up in surprise, then began to laugh. 

"What are doing?" He chuckled.

"It's not suppose to be funny. It's suppose to be scary. I was trying to scare Greg, but now it's stuck!"

"Mycroft is going to freak out," Jim murmured to himself. This wasn't just a normal Christmas dinner for them, it was for his parents. He was terrified of them, to the point where Jim was quite glad sometimes that he didn't know his. They had to do something, Jim didn't want Mycroft getting hurt.

"I know he will. And it stinks in here, get me out," Irene begged. I bet she's not used to begging, Jim thought with a snigger. He took hold of the turkey, one cold, slimy leg in each hand, but before he got the chance to pull the door started to open.

"It's Mycroft, quick! Um..." Jim pushed Irene's head down on to a plate and quickly began to sprinkle parsley on top. His heart thudded in his chest. If they couldn't get the turkey off he could at least give Mycroft a good scare first.

"Hello James," Mycroft mumbled tiredly. "What are you- argh!" He jumped back in fright as he noticed a body projecting from the turkey. "Who the hell is that?" He demanded.

Jim, through his fit of giggles, managed to reply, "It's... It's Irene!"

"What are you two doing? This has to feed twenty people at my mother's house!" Mycroft looked on the verge of a breakdown and suddenly Jim felt bad again. He resolved to help Mycroft wash out the turkey and possibly even accompany him and Sherlock to their parents' house. 

"I'll help you, just get hold of it," Jim said. They stood Irene up again and each grabbed one side of the turkey.

"Spread the legs as wide as you can," Mycroft informed Jim. Irene began to laugh. "Now is not the time to be recalling previous sexual encounters, Irene," he snapped.

"Just because you never have any," Irene grumbled, but she stayed perfectly still as the boys tried to remove the turkey from her head.

"I think it's nearly there," Jim lied. He didn't really have a clue. In fact, if he was to make an educated guess he'd say it hadn't moved an inch.

Suddenly Irene stumbled back and Jim thought for one ecstatic moment they'd got the turkey off, but it was still there, wedged as firmly as ever. He began to wonder how Irene had even got it on.

The door opened and Greg walked in, screaming the second he saw Irene. "Ha! I scared you!" Irene called triumphantly, pointing at the fridge. 

Greg chuckled from the doorway. "I'm over here!"

Irene turned a fully one eighty, facing the wall. "Ha! I scared you!"

*

"Ah, you looked like an idiot," Jim smiled contentedly. Irene shoved him off his stool.

"Yes, that's obviously my worst Christmas. Can't get worse than that. Truly, truly terrible," Mycroft rambled. To be honest, he'd found that Christmas quite enjoyable. Sherlock had found his failure to make an acceptable turkey hilarious, so they'd been on good terms all holiday. Both Irene and Jim had felt bad for the turkey incident, so had accompanied them to his parents house and helped with the cooking and the washing up. Greg had just tagged along for the fun of it, and he'd kissed Mycroft on the cheek under the mistletoe. That had been one of Mycroft's best Christmases ever, he thought happily.

"No, no. That's not the one I was talking about," John piped up. Mycroft could've strangled him. "I wasn't even there for that one." He seemed a little bitter at that, even though it was his own choice to be living with Mary.

"I don't want to tell it," Mycroft admitted. He shot a sideways glance at Greg. Greg wouldn't want him to tell it, either. In fact, Mycroft was fairly certain that if he told it, he wouldn't want to talk to Greg. 

"Come on," Greg smiled good-naturedly. "Reliving past pain is what Christmas is all about." Mycroft knew he was making a joke at his own expense, but he couldn't help but think how true that statement really was.

*flashback*

"John's here. Mycroft, get the door would you please, love?" Mr Holmes called. Mycroft didn't move. He had a book. He had a mug of tea. He had a box of biscuits he was hiding from both his mother and Sherlock. Why should he go to let John in?

"Myc, you lazy, good for nothing slob of a brattish child! If you don't heave yourself up off that sofa and let your friend in you'll be a snivelling mess on the floor by the time I do it," Mrs Holmes screamed. Mycroft jumped up, but he was now shaking so hard his legs gave way. Forcing himself up, Mycroft hurried to the door and let John in. "John's here," he yelled, just so that his mother knew he'd done as he was told.

"Happy Christmas," John smiled. Mycroft let out a shaky breath and hugged him tightly. He hated being home. He couldn't wait to start university. John seemed a little confused at how affectionate Mycroft was suddenly being, but he hugged him gently back. 

John waited until Mycroft was done before he said, "Cindy broke up with me."

"Oh, apologies," Mycroft nodded. He didn't really care. He'd never liked Cindy anyway, especially not for John. But John was his friend, so he had to show some sympathy.

"And she was going to come round later and we were going to... You know." John tilted his head to the side a little and winked. Mycroft couldn't help but smile. He liked when John talked about this.

"You were going to give her your-" Mycroft raised an eyebrow, then whispered, "flower?"

"Urgh," John groaned, lightly shoving Mycroft's shoulder. "That's so creepy! And weird! You're seventeen, call it virginity!" Mycroft recoiled at the word. He wouldn't use such profanities. Sex made him feel uncomfortable, because he knew no one would ever want to do it with him.

John stepped away to greet Mr and Mrs Holmes, but Mycroft kept a safe distance. He didn't feel like being hurt or taunted again. 

The front door opened and Mycroft caught Sherlock trying to sneak in without being seen by their parents. He was dressed smartly in a black suit and crisp, white shirt. Mycroft was jealous. He'd stuffed himself in to an oversized sweater to avoid any unwanted comments. They came anyway.

"Oh! Sherlock!" Mrs Holmes cried. She had no qualms about showing favouritism. "And who's your friend?" A young man a few years older than Sherlock stepped out from behind the door.

"Mum, this is-" he started at the man for a second. "Lestrade. He is my officer friend from The Yard. He hopes to one day be promoted to detective inspector." Mycroft stared stupidly. Lestrade was gorgeous. His dark brown hair fell slightly over one eye and his stubble drove Mycroft insane. 

A sinking feeling suddenly knocked the breath out of Mycroft. He was definitely NOT straight.

Greg Lestrade, as he has just introduced himself, took a step back and began to talk to Sherlock again. Mycroft coughed loudly. There was no way he'd make a move on this man, but he certainly wasn't going to go without even an introduction.  
"Oh, um, yes," Sherlock stuttered. "This is my big brother, Mycroft."

"You can say that again," Greg mumbled as he reached out to shake Mycroft's hand. He felt a horrible, crushing pain in his heart. No, Mycroft thought sharply. He didn't feel anything. People made comments like that all the time, and normally it didn't bother him. But now it did, and oh god did it hurt. Maybe he'd misheard? Of course he had. Greg seemed a nice young man, he wouldn't say that. Mycroft knew deep down that he was lying to himself, but it made the pain stop.

"So Greg, will you be stopping for dinner?" Mrs Holmes asked sweetly. Mycroft wanted to scream. He wanted to reveal his mother for the fraud she really was. The woman who snapped and shouted and abused him. But he couldn't. That was always the problem, that he just couldn't do it. He didn't want to be hurt again. 

"Greg doesn't like Christmas food," Sherlock chimed in. "At least not after..." He waved his hand airily. "Oh, some thing he was telling me about." Mrs Holmes looked a little put out, but shrugged it off and returned to the kitchen.

Mycroft shuffled over to Greg, his heart thumping against his ribs. Of all the people Mycroft could've had his first proper crush on, it was this guy. This guy who didn't really want to be here and thought Mycroft was just Sherlock's fat lump of a brother. He couldn't stand it, he was smarter than this, better than this. But some stupid part of his brain clearly wanted to act his age and just have a silly crush for once. He attempted to say 'hey Greg' but of course it came out as, "Hello Gregory." Greg smiled politely, but didn't say anything. "If you like, I could make you some mac and cheese," he offered shyly. 

"That sounds great. As long as it wasn't there when Jesus was born," Greg chuckled, then winced at his own lame joke. 

Mycroft didn't want to laugh. He could control himself upon hearing the funniest and cleverest of jokes, surely he could keep a straight face at this stupid attempt to make conversation. But then that silly, seventeen-year-old part of his brain kicked in again and he found himself gripping his waist in laughter. 

"Sorry," Mycroft gasped, terribly ashamed. "I have to go!"

~

Sherlock watched as John washed the dishes. He thought he looked very nice. He thought Greg looked nice, too, and at least he knew he was bisexual, but Greg was eighteen and Sherlock was fifteen. They were only friends because Sherlock was so annoying each time he visited the Yard. 

"So John, how's college?" Sherlock asked in what he hoped was a casual voice. Just to make sure, he leaned against the counter.

"It's good, I guess. Chemistry's a killer though. I was wondering if you could help me with that?" John smiled hopefully at Sherlock, but all he could do was stare. John wanted his help? He was incredulous. Well, of course he was smarter than John, especially when it came to chemistry, but he never thought John would actually ask for help.

"Well umm... Yuuuh... Yea... Yes, yes. Yes, of course I will," Sherlock spluttered. John laughed lightly and patted his shoulder, then drifted off to talk to Mycroft. Sherlock knew he was being rude, but all he could do was stare and listen as they talked.

"I still can't believe Cindy dumped me."

"Mm."

"I'm done with college girls now, they're so silly and unpredictable."

A nod from Mycroft, as if he actually knew what John was talking about.

"You know what? I'm going to start dating men!" John declared triumphantly. Sherlock was slightly taken aback for a second, but when he thought about it the signs were really all there. He always checked boys out. Whenever Sherlock made a comment on how nice a man looked John would agree. And then there was that James guy Sherlock just hadn't been able to figure out at the time...

In a sudden attempt to seem manly, childish in hindsight, Sherlock yelled, "Violet, Siger, I've got that Christmas plate you asked for." He chanced a glance at John. He was smiling, but Mycroft was glaring at him hard. He folded his arms and narrowed his eyebrows and for a second Sherlock forgot anything he'd ever said about his weight because in that moment Mycroft looked like he could knock someone's head clean off.

"Call them mum and dad, you imbecile," he snarled, before stalking off.

~

Greg looked beautiful. He wasn't doing much; slumped on the sofa with one leg tucked underneath him, plate sat in his lap. The cold, winter light through the window sent shimmers of grey through his chocolaty hair. Mycroft felt weird.

He didn't understand why he was feeling like this: tongue tied, light headed, utterly confused. He didn't feel as though he was coming down with a fever, in fact, quite the opposite. Mycroft felt amazing. He had a sudden urge to listen to loud music and even to cry a little. That wasn't right. Mycroft did not cry!

Mycroft carefully approached Greg, afraid that he'd make a fool of himself. He felt as though he normally did. Shyly, he sat down at the end of the sofa, a safe distance away from Greg so that he didn't see how the sofa dipped when he sat on it. Mycroft's hands were shaking a little, so he nervously wrung them to try and stop it.

"Uh... He-hello," Mycroft stuttered nervously. Greg lifted his head and beamed at him, which would normally reassure Mycroft that he'd made a good first impression on someone, but instead it gave him butterflies. "How was the mac and cheese?" He continued nervously.

"It was great, thanks," Greg nodded. Then he grinned cheekily and winked, adding, "You should totally work in the food industry!"

"Ok," Mycroft gawped, suddenly distracted by this new thought. What a perfect job! He could combine two things he loved: food and government. He could work in a food and hygiene regulations segment of government! That meant trying foods, visiting restaurants, and never doing anything more strenuous than filing. He whipped round to thank Greg, but found that he was already in the kitchen with Sherlock. It almost felt like he was having a heart attack. What did he care? Ten seconds of conversation with a boy he barely knew! But then again, he was feeling all sorts of messed up today.

"Mycroft! Mycroft!" John landed very suddenly in a pile at Mycroft's feet. He didn't have the energy to chat, so instead just let John babble. "Cindy just dumped her boyfriend and wants to get back with me! She says she'll come over and we can do... It, tonight!" John squealed excitedly.

"Promise you'll tell me everything?" Mycroft asked, though his heart wasn't really in it. He didn't want to hear about John sleeping with Cindy, HE wanted to sleep with Greg. He didn't really know what he was thinking about, anything like he saw on TV seemed awkward when he put himself in to those situations, but he wanted Greg to gently touch his cheek, and kiss him softly, and hug him as they fell asleep. It was stupid, a ridiculous fantasy, but he couldn't help himself. Greg was perfect!

"Oh, of course!" John was still babbling. "And this time, we'll know if we've done it for real or not. I even promised it would last an entire song!"

~

It was after dinner and Mycroft dragged his feet to the kitchen. He didn't want to help wash up. However when he saw Greg there his breath caught in his throat, and suddenly washing up didn't sound so bad. He was having an interesting conversation with Sherlock though, so he stopped, hidden, to listen.

"I was thinking," Sherlock started nervously, "of maybe asking John out? I know it's a long shot, but I do find him rather appealing, and I don't feel that way about many people."

"That's sweet, Sherlock. I think he'd like that. Don't be out too long though, I said I'd help you make a fake police badge." Greg chuckled and winked. Mycroft's head spun.

"Well, I was rather thinking I'd like to be out all night," Sherlock said. Mycroft almost gasped aloud. His fifteen year old brother! How could he? He would most certainly not be letting that happen! It wasn't even legal for him yet!

"Sherlock! You're fifteen!" Greg spluttered, echoing Mycroft's thoughts. It made Mycroft feel quite proud.

"What? No, I wasn't thinking of that," Sherlock scowled. "I meant we could stay up all night and play board games." If Mycroft hadn't been aware of Sherlock's complete adoration for board games he would've been sceptical, but as it were he almost laughed.

"Ah, alright then." Greg tugged his fingers through his thick hair. "Just, don't leave me with your fat brother, alright?"

Sherlock's laugh echoed in Mycroft's ears, and all he could see was Greg's wide smile. He felt shattered. He literally felt as though someone had smashed his heart with a hammer and now he was lying on the floor in pieces. Tentatively, he tested one leg. It wouldn't move. He tried to open his mouth, to suck in a breath of air, but he couldn't. His lungs began to tighten. He needed to breath soon, or else he really would be on the floor.

Mycroft closed his eyes and began to build a wall. He imagined it going up, brick by brick, surrounding him. When it was finished it blocked out all sound, it was so high and thick. Mycroft couldn't see over it, but that meant no one could see in, either. It felt almost like being at the bottom of a very deep well. He loved it.

Gradually Mycroft's heart rate slowed and he began to breath again. Slowly. In, out. He imagined sitting at the bottom of the wall. The floor was cold and hard beneath him, but he deserved it. He scolded himself viciously in his head. How could he have allowed himself to be so foolish? To like a person he barely knew? He'd known John since he was eleven and he didn't even really like him.

He imagined crying. He imagined letting all of his emotions flood down his face and seep in to the already damp floor. He tugged at his jumper. He gripped his wrists until they bruised. He sobbed and screamed and did everything he feared to do aloud. He allowed himself to hurt.

"Mycroft?"

His eyes snapped open. What had seemed like hours in his mind palace had really only been seconds. All he had to show for it was a red mark on his wrist, which would surely bruise later.

Mrs Holmes was stood beside him, half a cake on a plate, presumably on its way to the kitchen. Mycroft wished he'd never touched that cake. Or the one last Christmas. Or any Christmas before that. For a moment, he rather wished he was dead. But then he snapped out of it and addressed his mother appropriately.

"Yes mummy, what do you want?" He forced himself to sound bright and eager. The last thing he needed right now was a lecture on how he should be grateful this time of year.

"Nobody's eating this, I assumed you'd want it?" She held the cake out to him. And Mycroft burst in to tears. He covered his eyes, embarrassment and fear sweeping over him, then shoved past his mother and headed for the stairs. His father tried to stop as he passed, ask him what was wrong, but Mycroft just shrugged him off. He didn't want to talk to him. Didn't want to talk to anyone. In fact, he'd even go as far as to say he hated everyone.

*

"Oh God!" Greg's concerned face was a few inches from Mycroft's, but he felt nothing. It wasn't just the fact that he wasn't allowed to lean in and kiss him, not in front of all of their friends, but he didn't want to. He didn't even want Greg touching him.

"Oh Go-od!" Greg continued, his tone even more desperate. "I can't believe I did that! I can't believe I called you fat! I'm so sorry Mycroft, I'm so, so sorry! I was just... I was just an idiot, I can't believe I did that, that's not even like me! I'm so sorry!" He leaned in to hug Mycroft, but he flinched away. Greg looked heart broken.

"I don't want you to touch me," Mycroft whispered. "I was so embarrassed. You! You embarrassed me so much! I'd never had a crush on anyone before, I even thought I was straight! And after that I've never been able to trust anyone. Always with my shirt on, always with the lights off, never had a shred of self confidence. Gregory you... You sort of ruined my life." The words felt too severe even as they left Mycroft's mouth, but he wasn't going to take them back. He'd meant them at the time and he was sticking to that.

"I'm so sorry, Mycroft. I was eighteen and stupid, and I couldn't go home for the holidays so I was bloody pissed off, and I don't know what I was thinking. I'm sorry. I'll do anything you want. You can say anything you want to me! Please My," Greg begged. He looked utterly terrified. Mycroft probably would've forgiven him if they hadn't been 'dating'. Then he could've easily passed it off as just another childhood problem. But he couldn't do that anymore. Greg had to look at him. They slept together! If they were going to continue doing so Mycroft needed proof that Greg didn't find him repulsive.

"I'll just... Think about it," he murmured, shuffling to the end of the sofa and tucking his knees up. For a moment it looked as though Greg was going to continue talking, but then he just nodded firmly and looked down at the floor.

"Well! I can't believe it!" Jim exclaimed. "I can't believe you called him fat, that's terrible!"

A low growl crept up the back of Greg's throat. "You're not helping, Jim," he snarled. Jim snickered, but didn't say anything else.

"Actually," John interrupted, tentatively, "that's not what I was think-"

"Yay! Time for New Years!" Mycroft yelled loudly. "Let's take the tree down, who wants champaign! I know, let's share New Years stories!"

"Oh! I have one of those," Jim chimed in excitedly.

"No!" Irene elbowed him lightly. "I want to hear about Mycroft's bad Christmas! It must be absolutely awful to be worse than that one!"

*flashback*

"So John, I hear you want to study medicine at university?" Mrs Holmes asked. John put down the carrot he'd been pealing.

"Yeah, but I was also thinking about joining the army. I wish I would find something that combines the two," John mused. Sherlock, as he'd promised, had helped John with chemistry, and he was now destined for a great university and, if he continued to work hard, a great job.

There was a loud knock on the door and John drifted off to answer it, eager both to see Sherlock and to get away from Mrs Holmes. He opened the door to both Sherlock and Greg, just as he'd expected. "Um, hey. Happy Christmas," he mumbled awkwardly. He was tempted to hug Sherlock, but when he seemed in no mood to reciprocate John settled for a handshake.

Sherlock mumbled a hello to his parents, and explained that he'd just gone in to the city to retrieve 'Lestrade'. Mrs Holmes didn't seem too impressed. "Oh yes, the boy who hates Christmas," she sighed under her breath.

"Where's my brother gone? I have something for him." John was surprised to hear that Sherlock had a Christmas present for his brother, and began to think it was a joke, until he saw Sherlock fingering a pill bottle in his pocket. Was he supplying Mycroft with some kind of drug? He'd know Mycroft for long enough and he really didn't seem the type. It wasn't as if he could ask about it either; Mycroft would never tell.

At that moment Mycroft came down the stairs, and John turned his attention to Greg. His reaction was hilarious: wide eyed, slack jawed, weak kneed. And John understood why: Mycroft was hot. He wasn't conventional model hot, or sweet, boy-next-door hot, he was stunning and ethereal and drop dead gorgeous. Since Greg had last seen him he'd cut his hair; it was no longer a mass of unruly curls, but trimmed short all over, apart from a curly side fringe over his right eye. He wore a black suit and red tie, along with smokey eye shadow and black eye liner. His lips were also some shade of midnight, but instead of looking strange it just looked brilliant. If he hadn't been John's best friend and if he hadn't been straight, John certainly would've been doing everything to get him in to bed.

"Hi Gregory," Mycroft smiled, unwrapping his arms from his waist so that he could wave. He was so skinny it was unreal. It was, literally, unreal. John had helped Mycroft tie a thick belt just below his ribs earlier, giving the impression that he didn't even really have a waist. It wasn't that Mycroft wasn't skinny, they'd just both agreed that this had far more shock factor than just 'hey, I lost fifty pounds'. John didn't even understand why Mycroft was so mad at Greg, people called him fat all the time, but he had to admit it was fun extracting revenge.

Greg was still staring, but now he seemed more confused than in awe. Sherlock stepped in front of him. "Please, that's my brother," he frowned. Greg nodded slowly, but still stared as Mycroft walked away.

~

"Mate, you totally got Greg back for calling you fat last year," John beamed, clapping Mycroft on the shoulder. He shuddered, his shoulders felt too delicate now. If he so much as tripped on the stairs it sent shooting pains down his arms. He had to be careful.

"Yes, I suppose I did," Mycroft shrugged casually. "And I do look fantastic. But I'm not satisfied. I want to humiliate him!" John looked unsure, but Mycroft knew he was always up for something dangerous. "I want him to be naked-" John looked horrified, so Mycroft quickly continued, "and cold, and outside, and I want to laugh! So how do I accomplish that?"

"Well," John started, "You could... Pretend you want to have sex with him! He's bi, you're hot, he obviously finds you attractive."

Mycroft felt his cheeks heat up. Even after everything last year he'd do anything to get in to bed with Greg. Snogging an Italian exchange student behind the science labs was the closest Mycroft had got to exploring his sexuality in the past year, so if Greg wanted to screw him he certainly wouldn't complain. But then again, pointing and laughing was good too...

"Alright, so how do I make him think I want to sleep with him?" Mycroft asked. John quirked his lips in to a smirk, then bent his arms above his head and stretched. Thrusting his hips forward slightly, John picked up a carrot from the counter.

"Oh wow," he whispered in a seductive, husky voice. "Carrots. What a story! You don't know the half of what I can do with these..." He chuckled lightly, shaking his head, then dropped the carrot. His gaze flicked to Mycroft and he licked his lips, then turned around, slowly and casually, to give a good view of his ass.

"That's good," Mycroft nodded, heat beginning to creep up his neck. "I will... Try that." They heard voices approaching and John smirked, dashing out of the kitchen. He turned around and mouthed 'good luck' before disappearing behind the wall.

Greg mumbled something to Sherlock and smiled, then stepped in to the kitchen. "Hey Mycroft," he smiled. "I was wondering, if you're not busy or anything, if you could make me some mac and cheese again? It was really good last year."

"Oh, yes, um... Of course," Mycroft said. He was starting to feel very hot and uncomfortable. The belt wasn't really helping; it was making breathing a little hard. All the same, he picked up the bag of pasta and attempted to seduce Greg. He held it near his face, unsure of what to do. "Oh, pasta," he mumbled. "You don't know what I can... Do with pasta!"

"Um, I do actually. You showed me last year. You're a good cook." Greg smiled awkwardly.

Mycroft took a deep breath that didn't satisfy his lungs and continued. He dropped the pasta and instead picked up a carrot. "I really love carrots," he purred. "I could do a lot with... This carrot."

A worried look washed over Greg's face. "Mycroft, do you feel ok? You should sit down, I'll bring you some water."

"Me? Oh I'm just fine." Lies. Mycroft was really struggling to breath now, he was beginning to feel light headed. He looked around and picked up a knife, then ran the blade through his teeth. "Don't you love cold steel?" He whispered. Black dots swam across his vision and suddenly Mycroft couldn't feel his legs. Instead he felt as though he was falling to the floor in slow motion.

Greg yelped in panic and stepped forward to catch Mycroft. He allowed him to lean in to his chest, trying to keep him upright. However as Mycroft blacked out the knife slipped from his hand...

~

"I'm ok. I'm ok. I'm ok." Greg repeated the phrase over and over again, although it wasn't really true. His foot was ablaze with agony and hopping didn't help. As soon as they entered the hospital he was lowered in to a wheelchair, and that was a little better, but blood still poured from his toe. Greg tried to keep a straight face because he didn't want to make Mycroft feel bad. Plus, he'd have his toe sewn back on in no time.

They crashed through a door feet first, causing Greg to yell out in pain. He panicked and quickly shut his mouth, stealing a glance at Mycroft. He looked a little panicked himself, perfect hair tousled, mouth set in a frown. But he also looked quite nice. He'd ditched the suit (and the thick belt under his shirt that Greg had discovered in an attempt to get him breathing again) and was now wearing what Greg assumed were his exercise clothes; tight fitting black Lycra with red stripes. It was most definitely tight in all the wrong places, but Greg found that quite nice. He'd been terrified that Mycroft had overheard him last year and done something rash to hurt himself, but all that had just been a facade. Without well contoured makeup, a cleverly placed belt, and a well-cut suit, Mycroft was quite pale, slightly chubby, and very, very cute.

They arrived in a room and Greg hauled himself on to the bed, then he was vaguely aware of the doctor asking if anyone had his toe. "I've got it here-" Mycroft paused to double over, hands on his ribs, "on ice!" Greg thought Mycroft should be on this bed, not him. He was afraid he may have bruised or damaged his ribs with the belt.

The bag was passed over and the doctor opened it. He frowned. "Young man, is this a joke?"

"I don't joke, sir," Mycroft replied.

"This is a carrot." A small slice of carrot was removed from the bag. Mycroft paled.

"Stupid boy! There's a toe in my kitchen!" Mrs Holmes cuffed her son over the head. Mycroft looked like he was going to black out again.

"Hey, leave him," Greg said. It was a struggle, he was missing a toe for God's sake and he wasn't even getting it back, but it really wasn't Mycroft's fault. "He was unconscious, someone else should've taken care of it." Mycroft smiled gratefully at Greg. Despite his pain, he gave a small smile back.

*

"You mean I lost my toe because I called you fat?" Greg asked good-naturedly. "Ha, think we can call it even then." Mycroft didn't reply. Greg was beginning to worry. What else could he do? He'd already lost a toe for the man!

"I didn't mean to cut your toe off," Mycroft said eventually. "But you meant to make me feel awful. You lost half a toe. I lost the only shred of self confidence I've ever had." An awkward silence filled the room. No one really wanted to get in the middle of their argument, because it was never a good thing to argue with Mycroft, that's whether you were on his side or not.

"You lost your self confidence?" Greg growled. "I got teased for years because I had a limp. No one wanted to date me. Once the limp had gone I had to wear a sock, just one sock, every time I wanted to get laid, just in case I freaked people out. I got fired from my job! That's why I'm not an officer anymore, Mycroft! I work a boring desk job in the back of the police station, working in bloody tax fraud, because I lost my toe! But do I fucking blame you for that? No! Because all you did was faint, and if anything it's my fucking fault for going to catch you, or at least for not watching where the knife was. Maybe you feel like your life's ruined because I made you think no one wanted to fuck you, but how about this Mycroft? You actually fucking ruined mine!" Greg stood up shakily. "You know what? I'm really sorry Mycroft. I think I should leave you alone for a bit."

Greg walked calmly in to the hall, tears slowly starting to slip down his face. He'd screwed up. Mycroft wasn't going to forgive him anyway, he certainly wouldn't now. And Greg shouldn't care, Mycroft was being childish and immature, but he did. Mycroft was insane and awkward and weird and Greg loved him. God, he'd never loved anyone like he loved Mycroft, but it was too late to tell him that now.

Just as he was entering his flat he heard the door behind him open. Mycroft stuck his head and opened his mouth to speak, but Greg closed his door quickly. He wasn't ready for that yet.

~

Hands shaking, Mycroft knocked on Greg's door. Or at least what he hoped was Greg's door, as he couldn't see very well. For a long time there was silence, and Mycroft was terrified that Greg would just leave him there on the doorstep with a turkey on his head, but then he heard the door open.

"Alright then," Greg said slowly, dragging out each syllable. "I think you have the wrong flat, Irene's at yours so... Nobody you like is home." Mycroft felt awful. He did like Greg, but he'd reacted rashly and stupidly, so of course he thought that.

Mycroft felt the door begin to close again and panicked. "Wait!" He yelled, making up for the cover of the turkey. He removed a hand from behind his back and placed a fez in his head. Greg didn't say anything, but the door didn't close either, so he reached in to his back pocket and pulled out a pair of large sunglasses.

"If you think this is making everything ok now, it's not," he heard Greg say. His voice was muffled by the turkey and it just made him sound sad. "You have to do a stupid dance as well." What? Mycroft was taken aback by this. He'd expected Greg to chuckle a little, then tell him to get cleaned up and they'd have an adult conversation. This was ridiculous! But of course he'd do it, what choice did he have?

Very slowly Mycroft began to imitate some stupid dance he'd seen Sherlock watching on TV once. It had the desired effect, because Greg quickly bust out laughing. "God Mycroft, I love you!" He giggled.

"You what?" Mycroft's heart was in his throat. He could feel every thump. Please God let him have heard right!

"I umm... I love you, Mycroft. And I'm sorry about earlier. I'm sorry about ten years ago," Greg sounded very sincere and despite his reservations Mycroft decided it was best to just clear things up and say he was forgiven.

"The problem is though..." He faltered. Could he say this aloud? It was the height of embarrassment. But then again, he was wearing a turkey on his head. It's not like it could get much worse. "The problem. Is. That... Gregory... Ok. I'm not that skinny. I pretend that I am, but I'm not really. I'm quite chubby, if I'm honest, because I don't even take weight loss pills anymore, but they just made me feel really ill and tired all the time and that wouldn't do for work and plus I work in the food industry and I really like food, that doesn't help, and I can cook and that doesn't help either and... Dear God I'm really going on, I should stop. What I'm trying to ask is-" Mycroft took a deep breath, then regretted it because the turkey didn't taste good. "What I'm trying to ask is if you actually like me, because I'm scared you'll call me fat again," he muttered quickly. He hoped Greg heard, because that would be an awkward thing to say again. Mycroft Holmes did not ask if people found him attractive, Mycroft Holmes seduced the hell out of people and made sure they found him attractive.

"My, I'm really sorry," Greg exhaled. "Look, I don't think you'll ever get over that, but let me explain. I just, I liked you, ok? I thought you were cute and funny and a really good cook. Sherlock had been telling me terrible things about you and none of them were true. But then John said you were straight, and Sherlock seemed to hate you at the time, so I couldn't very well tell him I liked you, he was my friend. I sort of wanted him to ask John out so that I could hang out with you, but I didn't know how to tell him that. I thought that if I pretended I didn't like you he'd want to annoy me by leaving me with you. I shouldn't have been such a dick, but I had good intentions. Basically I had a stupid crush on you, that's all."

Mycroft felt a warm, tingly feeling spread across his chest. Greg had a crush on him! He laughed lightly. He wanted to jump up and down like a little kid and hug Greg. Suddenly he felt terrible though. He'd ruined Greg's job for nothing.

"Well, I'm sorry too. I reacted stupidly at the time, and the next year, and a few moments ago. I ruined your job. I will do anything to get it back for you." Mycroft shuddered. He loved Greg, a lot, but he didn't do 'favours' for people. It made his skin crawl.

"Hey, wow, not so fast! I have a better job now. Sometimes I genuinely enjoy the work. I get much better pay. And I can keep it until I'm old, I might've had to retire early from police work. Plus, I mostly did parking tickets and stuff anyway. It would've taken a long time for me to get promoted to something like homicide, and even longer to become a DI. I practically run my division no, it's fine." Mycroft felt Greg's hand gently on his hips and he flinched for a second, before Greg leaned in and kissed his neck. "You don't have to 'pretend' to be skinny," he whispered softly. "In fact, you don't even have to be skinny. I love you, a lot, and that really doesn't matter. I don't want you to hurt yourself." He dragged his lips down Mycroft's neck and sucked on his collar bone. Oh how he wished he wasn't wearing a turkey on his head! He'd be getting some serious tongue action right now! "And also, hugging you is amazing because you're soft and warm and wonderful and I wouldn't trade that for the world."

Mycroft moaned at the loss of Greg's lips from his skin, but was quickly enveloped in a tight hug, Greg's warm breath against his shoulder. "I love you too," he whispered.

Suddenly there was a high pitched scream and Mycroft whirled around. Shoes clattered down the stairs and he began to laugh as he realised what had happened; he'd scared Irene with her own prank.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Greg is much sweeter and more apologetic than Chandler was, I couldn't resist. And OH MY GOD WHO'S SEEN THE NEW PROMO PIC MY POOR BABIES JUST LET THEM LOOK AT EACH OTHER!!!


	3. S4E14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again people XD just a warning that this chapter really sucks, I know most authors say this but I legitimately mean it, this one's just really bad. Even when I was watching the episode through to make notes I realised that it wasn't really one of my favourites. Also, sorry to lmirandas (clearly tagging people like you do on tumblr doesn't work, I will learn) who requested this, it doesn't really have much Sherlock and Émile! But I'll eventually get on to their wedding, so I hope that will be better.
> 
> Anyway, this chapter contains:  
> -literally nothing bad???  
> -a stripper who isn't even talked about  
> -Louis Moffat being born in the wrong decade  
> -timey-wimey, spacey-wacey stuff, but it really doesn't matter if you don't think about it  
> -Mark eating liquorice
> 
> So, it's not that great but please enjoy :3

Jim reached across the table and plucked a thin, pink thing from Irene's tub. "What's this?" He asked with a cheeky grin. Irene rolled her eyes and looked up at him.

"It's a..." She took a deep, exasperated breath. "It's a wiggly worm."

Jim giggled. "Fishing is so funny. I don't know why you go, though."

"It's my only opportunity to see my father. I only see him once a year. I don't particularly enjoy fishing, but for two days it's worth it." Irene wished she had normal parents. At the very least, parents who wanted to see her. She was almost certain that if she didn't attend the annual fishing trip she'd never see her father.

"Attention, Irene," Mycroft called. He was knelt beneath the sink, rubber gloves on and bleach in hand. "What is this?" He held up two slices of dried bread, with something green and mouldy between them. Irene snickered.

"It's half of my sandwich." Almost true. "Well, half of last year's sandwich, anyway." Mycroft yelped and dropped it on he floor, then hurriedly grabbed it again and threw it in the bin. Irene felt slightly bad, this really wasn't helping Mycroft's OCD, but if it wasn't the sandwich he would've found something else to blame her for.

"So, how do you fish?" Sherlock was stood in he middle of the lounge, playing with his scarf. "I don't see how it's that hard." He straightened out his scarf and flicked it out like a whip, successfully wrapping it around the neck of one of a lamp. He smirked devilishly, then tugged on his scarf, smashing the lamp on the floor. "Mycroft, someone broke your lamp," he said coolly.

"Sherlock, this isn't even my flat," Mycroft replied.

"Oh. Irene, someone broke your lamp."

"Don't worry about it," Irene said, surprisingly good natured. "I just can't wait until my dad asks, 'Irene, what're you doing with your life,' and I can say, "I'm making a TV show with Steven Moffat!' He's going to be flabbergasted!" Everyone smiled kindly at Irene for a second, before slowly drifting back to whatever they were doing.

The bedroom door creaked open and Greg peered out. He took in everyone, busy with their own tasks, then quietly made his way over to his chair. He was promptly followed by the chick and the duck.

"Hello Greg," Irene called cheerily.

"That's easy for you to say," he snapped. "Kathy didn't cheat on you!"

"Umm actually... She did cheat on me, Greg," Irene informed him. She still felt bad for Greg. When he liked someone he liked them a lot. When she liked someone she wanted sex.

Greg nodded slowly, then headed in to the bathroom. The chick and the duck followed him, naturally. Greg reappeared a few seconds later to shoo them out. "Five minutes. Please," he begged.

"I don't know if I should leave Greg alone," Irene sighed suddenly. She really cared about Greg and hated to see him like this.

"I don't think you can do anything for him," Mycroft told her. Yeah, but you can, she thought. No matter what was going on in his life, Greg was always happy to drop everything for Mycroft. He was head over heels for him, but Mycroft was such an idiot when it came to romance he never noticed. Irene thought of giving him a nudge in the right direction.

"I suppose," she shrugged. "He's still in stage one anyway." Irene was hoping that if she left Mycroft would step in and try to help Greg.

"What's stage one?" Mycroft asked. This was a step in the right direction.

"Lounging about in his sweat pants. I'll be back for stage two, of course." She winked cheekily. "Going to strip clubs and gawking at half naked ladies. Then stage three! Imagining himself with other ladies." She waggled her eyebrows.

"I... I didn't - didn't ask," Mycroft stuttered.

"Or men." Mycroft began to blush bright red.

~

"So just... Just normal painkillers will do alright?" Joshua asked. John stared at him. "Painkillers?"

"Ah, ah yes!" John snapped out of it. "Sorry, normal painkillers will be just fine-" He took his hands, "Joshua. Joshua. Wow. You have such large hands, Joshua."

"Uh, thank you?" Joshua looked thoroughly confused. John leaned in slightly.

"Doctor Watson?" He jumped up immediately.

"Oh, doctor, what can I do for you?" He asked hurriedly. He had to stop flirting with people at work! The doctor beckoned him over, so he took a step closer to the door.

"Well, my nephew is in town from New York, and I'm working tomorrow evening, but I have two tickets to a ballet and I was wondering if you could take him? He's about your age."

"Yeah, of course." No. No of course not. He couldn't think of anything worse!

"Brilliant." The doctor disappeared again, and when John turned around Joshua was right at his back.

"You were saying about my hands?" He smiled softly. John's heart fluttered as Joshua once again took his hands. He couldn't even formulate a reply. "Never mind," Joshua giggled. "Anyway, I'm opening a nightclub tomorrow evening, and I wanted to invite you."

"I'd love to," John purred. He couldn't believe his luck. Had Joshua just asked him on a date? If he hadn't, would he after tomorrow night?

"Hope you like hard core R&B then." Joshua winked playfully and lightly touched John's arm, but all he could do was stare open mouthed. Suddenly this nightclub didn't sound so appealing. "I'm kidding," Joshua laughed, leaning closer to John as he did. "Don't worry, I'm kidding." John smiled again. "And hey, I'll put you on the VIP list." He winked once again, and John's heart fluttered.

The door suddenly open and the doctor leaned in. "I almost forgot-" he held out an envelope to John, "the tickets, for you and Émile." Oh God, John thought. Tomorrow night. Him and Émile. Not him and Joshua. Him. And Émile.

~

Greg lazily chucked a card in to a beer bucket. It missed, obviously. Only Irene could get them in. Or Mycroft, but only when he was drunk. He couldn't even kick a football sober. Greg remembered trying to teach him, several times, but he just kept falling over, or missing the ball, or eventually getting out of breath and folding his arms and sitting down on the floor. He liked Mycroft, really he liked him a lot, but they were just friends. But Kathy? Kathy was the one.

He decided to say this out loud. "Kathy was the one." Softly, gently, as he if he really didn't want to believe it. Then, more confidently, "I'm going to live in this chair. In these sweats."

"Take them off," Sherlock said calmly. "Come on, we can go out and have... Fun?" It wasn't a real offer, but it was a lot coming from Sherlock.

The door opened and Irene stepped in. A quick nod to acknowledge Mycroft in the kitchen. She didn't look impressed. Her hair was piled on her head, and her usual classy attire had been swapped for dungarees. Old, filthy dungarees. Sherlock backed up so as not to have to hug her.

"Hey," she smiled softly to Greg, approaching the chair. Greg jumped up quickly and moved instinctively towards Sherlock. Irene just chuckled. "I know. Fish. I'm going to learn my lines." Greg was secretly quite pleased that Irene was back, but he just wished she'd wash her clothes soon! As soon as Irene was gone he settled back in to the chair.

Silence ensued.

After a few slightly awkward minutes, John entered. "Hey Myc," he said sweetly, stepping in to the kitchen and smiling, with his head tilted slightly to one side. "This gorgeous man has invited me to a club tonight, but I've already promised to take Émile to the ballet."

"What are you going to do?" Mycroft replied, stressing the 'you' part.

John broke down. "Help me! I really, really like this guy, won't you go for me, Mycroft please, please Mycroft, won't you go?"

"No," Mycroft replied flatly. "And even if I did enjoy that horrible, prancing type of dance, I have work."

John turned desperately to Jim. "I'm at my brothers," he shrugged. "Have fun though!"

He chanced a look at Greg. "Don't even try it," Mycroft snapped. "You so much as ask him and I'm keeping you in our apartment all evening!" Greg turned his head a centimetre to the side in order to offer Mycroft a feeble smile. He returned it gleefully.

"Where's Irene?" John sighed.

"Learning her lines." Mycroft turned around and opened the fridge.

"Hey! Don't eat anything in there!" Irene yelled from her bedroom. Mycroft slammed the door in annoyance.

"Why not? You two always eat out of my fridge!" He looked around desperately, eventually spotting an apple on the counter. He glared at it for a moment, but obviously decided it wasn't worth it.

"Brownies in that cupboard," Greg called in a flat voice. "You can have some."

"Do you have anything healthier than a brownie that isn't an apple?" Mycroft sighed. He'd crouched down and was giving the brownies a malicious glare.

"Nope. Eat some," Greg replied.

"You did insist," Mycroft said hurriedly, standing up again. Sherlock was smirking at him, eyebrows knitted together. Mycroft gave his best look of nonchalance.

"Sherlock." John turned his friend's face away from Mycroft. "Sheeeerlock," he tried again.

"No," Sherlock said coldly.

"Please," John sighed. "Please Sherlock. I really like this man, please." Greg could see the hurt on Sherlock's face. He was still in love with him, of course he was. He had been since he was nine.

A loud knock on the door sent John in to panic mode. "He's here," he hissed. "Émile's here!" He hurried over to the door and peered through the peephole. "It's him and... Argh! He looked right at me."

"People can't see through from the other side, imbecile," Mycroft informed him with a roll of his eyes. He had chocolate on his lips now. Greg wanted to kiss him. Not even in a sexual way, just softly pressing their lips together would be enough. Kissing Kathy had been nice, but only while he was in love with her. Now it seemed like she'd be cold and distant and not a good kisser at all. Mycroft always seemed like he'd be a good kisser. Plus, he was really tall, which would be a nice change, Greg thought.

"Hello!" John was still stood against the door.

"Hello?" A confused voice with a thick New York accent come through the door. John jumped back in shock.

"Sherlock Sherlock Sherlock, please!" John bounced back over to Sherlock. "I know you care about me. I really are about you too. But I've moved on. That's what I'm doing tonight, moving on. And I know it hurts, but I think you should too." They stared at each other for a second. The way they'd used to do when they were together. It was a stare that held a thousand words, and neither of them wanted to break it.

"I'll go," Sherlock said eventually, although his voice was laden with pain. John leaned in to hug him quickly, a short, tight embrace. Then the door was open and Émile was stood there.

For starters, he was soaking wet and looked as if he'd slaughter the next person to cross his path. He had chestnut hair, cut in to what Greg could only describe as a bowl cut, but in a way it suited him. His eyes were very pretty, huge and chocolaty brown. Greg thought his skin was quite pale, for an American.

"Hi Émile, I'm John," John started awkwardly. "I'm afraid I'm not free this evening-"

"Not free? Not free! Well that's just great! I've already been hit by a cab and strip searched over here! I obviously look like the kind of person to stick a pound of coke up their ass to you! And I'm fucking soaking!" He stood silhouetted in the doorway for a moment, before scowling and storming off down the corridor.

"I should... I should get him," John stuttered eventually, gesturing lamely down the hall. Émile was probably on the first floor by now!

"Yes. And do hurry," Sherlock sneered. John hesitated for a moment more then rushed out the door. Another awkward silence began in his absence.

"Wow." It was Jim that spoke, loud and excited. "Didn't you just looove his accent?"

~

"Oh God!" Irene flew out the bedroom, still dressed in yesterday's dungarees. "I've overslept! I have to get to the set!" She dashed for the door, a booklet of her lines clutched in her hands.

"Irene, have you even showered?" John asked as she rushed past.

"No! I fell asleep learning my lines!" She panicked. "And now I'm going to be late!" For a moment she fumbled with the door handle, growing more and more anxious as seconds went by, then she was out and rushing down the corridor.

"Well I had a terrible night," John grumbled. He was sprawled in Greg's chair in a traditional 'I've given up on my life' position. "I didn't even get to see Joshua!"

"What happened?" Mycroft asked, although he didn't sound interested.

"Well for starters, I hit a girl in the face. Turns out I wasn't on the VIP list. But John Warston was! So then some idiot called out 'I'm John Warston' and got in!"

"So you punched them?" Mycroft interrupted, suddenly looking more interested.

"No," John sighed. "It was pouring and some bitch tried to steal my umbrella. I hit her with it. In the face."

Mycroft sighed and eyed his wet umbrella in the corner. "That's my umbrella John, kindly stop 'borrowing it'."

"All I need is a couple of hours to make Joshua fall in love with me!" John ignored Mycroft. He didn't need another lecture about 'stealing' a damn umbrella!

Jim stood up and affectionately patted John on the head. "Aww Jim, don't worry," he said softly.

"That's your name." John looked up at Jim and frowned. Jim seemed equally confused.

"I thought my name was James, and Jim was just a nice thing you all called me." John sighed. Trust Jim to think that. It didn't help that Mycroft insisted on calling him James, either.

Greg stepped out of the bedroom, wearing smart pants and a shirt. John was shocked and quite pleased. "I am ready for the strippers!" He declared proudly.

"It's nine forty in the morning," John informed him with a smirk. Greg shrugged and sat down opposite John. They chatted for a few moments, John told Greg about his failed evening and such, and then the phone rang. Mycroft didn't move to get it, so John reluctantly hauled himself up to answer the phone.

"Hello?" It was Sherlock. Northumberland? With Émile! No! No no no! Why?

"You know you're saying all that aloud, right?" Mycroft scowled. John's eyes widened and he shut up, listening to Sherlock talk. Greg got up and moved to the kitchen, sitting down beside Mycroft. Jim stayed in a chair, but listened.

"He's quite lovely really, John. Once I got him in to some dry clothes he was like a new person." John balled his hands in to fists. How dare his snooty, rude, obnoxious New Yorker knock on their door and steal his best friend? How dare he drag him to Northumberland? How dare Sherlock let him?!

"How could this happen?" John exploded, punching Greg in the arm. Greg glared at him, then punched him back in the thigh. Then, quieter so Sherlock couldn't her, "How did he end up with this bastard?" He hit Greg again.

"Well maybe he didn't hit him," Greg snapped. Mycroft laughed lightly and put an arm around Greg's shoulders.

John just caught a thick Americans accent in the background of his conversation, "Oh look Sherlock, there's a deer in the woods! Come and see!"

"I must go," Sherlock chuckled (since when did he chuckle for anyone but John?). "There seems to be a deer in the woods!" And then he hung up. John reached up and gently touched his heart, just to make sure it was still beating; although he could feel the steady thump, thump against his hand, he still wasn't sure. And if it was still beating he was certain it was broken.

Suddenly realising that Greg and Mycroft were still staring at him, John said, "There was a deer. He had to go." Then, more forcefully, "He was horrible! Émile, I mean." Greg instinctively moved out of the way, not eager for another punch. John suddenly looked at his friends properly, and saw that they were worried. About what? About him? About him and Sherlock? There no longer was a him and Sherlock! But they were looking at him like there was.

"Don't look at me like that," he sighed. "I guess I'm just upset that I'm not getting anywhere with Joshua." A pause, sad glance at the floor, and then, "He's never been to Northumberland, has he Myc?"

"No. I went a lot with our uncle, when I was quite young, but Sherlock never came. It's very peaceful, he'll hate it there." Mycroft tried and failed to console John.

"Well, he seems to love it," John mumbled darkly.

"Too much drama!" Greg declared suddenly. He bent down and stripped off his pants, to reveal a pair of sweats underneath. Then he slumped back in to his chair.

"Come on Greg, I thought you were ready to see strippers?" Jim promoted.

"Yes, but now Irene's gone. Who am I suppose to watch girls strip naked with? You?"

"Yes! I can be straight," Jim said proudly. Even Mycroft laughed.

"Just come watch naked girls with us," John sighed, sitting down on the arm of Greg's chair.

"No."

John hit Greg in the arm again.

"Ok, ok! I'm coming!" He hurriedly jumped up.

~

Irene dashed in to the studio and almost ran head first in to a man with a clipboard. He stared at her in digest and she sneered back. "Apologies for running a little late," she said eventually. "I'm Irene Adler, here to play Lara Pulver."

"Ah," the man nodded, but said nothing else. He was still glaring maliciously at Irene, but was obviously far too polite to say anything.

"So, your cast here," Irene began, shooting the man a flirty smile, "some of them are quite prestigious. Especially working for Moffat. So you might say their dressing rooms are quite exquisite, no?"

"Eh, they're alright. Moffat's is alright, but he mostly uses it as a storage space for his kids when they can't be on set. Or a place where he can scream at his mate about 'fandoms' or something. It has a shower in it."

"That is all I needed to hear," Irene purred.

~

Music pounded in Greg's ears. Before him, a pretty girl was taking her clothes off. Behind him, a guy took his jacket off and hit Greg over the head. John was frowning unhappily up at the stage, surely thinking of Joshua. Jim was watching the girl strip with idle curiously. Mycroft was eating the fruit from everyone's cocktails when he was sure their attention was elsewhere. Greg smiled at him. Mycroft, looking a little sheepish, reached over and secured the chunk of pineapple back to Greg's glass, then pressed a finger to his lips.

A large man sat down beside Jim and lit a cigarette. Jim almost flew off his seat. "Eww, no," he scowled. "You can't smoke here."

"Why?" The man asked.

"It's annoying! Go away." He shooed the man away from him. Greg wished he'd come back. He wanted to smoke.

"Joshua hasn't called me yet," John wailed, laying his head on the table. "You'd think he'd be worried. What if I'd died?"

"How could you die? You never do anything remotely dangerous," Mycroft informed him. John must've kicked him under the table, because he helped and moved closer to Greg.

"And Sherlock's so happy-" John tried to continue, but Jim grabbed his head and turned it towards the stage. John didn't complain, but he clearly wasn't watching the dancer. With his head turned, Mycroft picked up John's drink and drank half of it, before setting it down in exactly the same place. Then he turned around at smirked at Greg. Greg shrugged, but smiled, showing that he was suitably impressed.

As a waitress walked past, Mycroft suddenly grabbed her arm. "You have to tell me who cleans your carpets here," he begged. "They are spotless!" She frowned, pulled her arm away, and carried on walking.

"My, that's not how you ask for innocent favours around here," Greg chuckled. Mycroft gave him a confused looked. "Alright, I'm going to call Kathy then."

"Ok," Jim mumbled. He'd fashioned a pair of glasses out of straws and was trying to drink from it.

"No!" Greg sighed. "That's a test. You're suppose to stop me. So if I get really drunk later and try to call Janice you must stop me at all costs."

"Yay! Call Janice," Jim beamed. "I want to know what she's doing."

"I want to get really drunk," Mycroft added.

Greg hid his face in his hands.

~

Warm water cascaded down Irene's face. She felt wonderful. There was a nice strawberry scent to the steam and she was rebelling in it. Then she heard the door open. "Hello?" Someone called out. It sounded like a young person. Irene panicked even more. "Da-ad? Are you in the shower? Why?" The door to the small bathroom opened. "Are you nearly done? I'm done shooting. And tell Mark, he won't give me his food!"

Irene didn't know what to do. This boy obviously wasn't going to leave. She couldn't call out to him, he'd know it wasn't his dad, but she couldn't leave the shower either. She could just take extraordinarily long to shower, but then what if Moffat came in? Sighing, she turned off the shower, picked up a towel, and stepping in to the living room area.

"Ah! Who are you?" The boy squeaked. He looked a little like his dad, especially the hair, and he was probably early to mid teens. When Irene didn't reply, he said, "Oh! Wait! I know you! You're Irene Adler! You're brilliant!"

"I... I... I don't think you should've been watching my films, young man," she stuttered nervously.

"Eh, it's fine," he shrugged. "I watch everything. I'm Louis..." He paused. "Not that I'm not thrilled you're here, but why are you here?"

"I..." Irene pondered lying to him, but what was there to lose? Even if he told his dad, her scene would be shot by then. "I went fishing with my dad at the weekend and I didn't have time to shower before I came here. It's just that I only see him once a year, I couldn't not go."

"I kinda get that," Louis nodded. "Parents are busy. I'm lucky mine make time for me, but sometimes I do feel like I'm being raised by my brother."

"I completely understand that feeling," Irene smiled. "Although try being raised by six of them!" Louis laughed. "If you let me get dressed, I'll talk to this Mark person for you," she offered.

"Oh... Thanks. It's nothing really, I was joking. He's my dad's friend, I guess I spend quite a bit of time with him. I don't want his old person sweets anyway, but you should totally come and meet him, he's really cool about sixty three percent of the time!"

Irene ducked in to the bathroom and began to dress. "And the other thirty seven percent?" She smirked.

"He's a raging child of the devil who hates everyone. But that's also pretty cool. And he'll take you to my dad, so you can do your scene," Louis continued.

"Thanks," Irene stepped out of the bathroom, dressed in what she'd been told to bring for her scene. "You're a great kid. But also could we just never mention this to your dad?"

"Mention what? All I remember is meeting you at the door." They laughed.

~

Mycroft sat down on the arm of Greg's chair, then tried to cuddle in beside him. Greg chuckled and moved over, letting Mycroft slide in to his seat. He was at the uncomfortable stage of being drunk where he wasn't drunk enough to be enjoying it, but he wasn't sober enough to still feel ok. Instead he just felt fuzzy and a little head-achey and not very good.

"We were brilliant at the strip club, weren't we?" He asked sleepily.

"No," Greg laughed. "Their cocktail maker is now teaching reception class."

"Well, we're bad at being straight because we're gay," Jim sighed.

"I'm not gay!" John yelled angrily.

"You don't count just now," Jim replied. Then, to Greg, "You can talk to us, if you like. Just because I see no appeal in your ex doesn't mean I don't understand heartbreak."

Greg looked down at Mycroft, who was trying to sleep on his shoulder. God, he was so cute. Cuter than Kathy. And funnier. And much, much smarter. Suddenly Greg didn't understand why he'd even wanted Kathy. Sure, she was alright, but she was no Mycroft. Mycroft was amazing! He gently stroked a finger across Mycroft cheek. Freckles were cute. Kathy didn't have any freckles. And not only ginger hair (naturally ginger hair!) but an adorably messy side fringe of curls. Just long enough that Greg could tuck it behind his ear. He did. Plus, Mycroft could eat an entire chocolate cake if he wanted to, that was always a good talent.

"Thanks Jim, I don't doubt it," Greg said, "but I actually think I'm ok."

Jim nodded. "We'll leave you then. Want us to drag Mycroft away?"

Mycroft was absolutely fast asleep on Greg's chest now, a handful of Greg's shirt in his hand. "Nah, think I'll keep him," Greg smiled. Jim and John left. "Ah, stage three," Greg whispered to himself as soon as they were gone. "Wanting to screw your friends!"

~

"I wanted to go to the strip club!" Irene whined.

"Seriously? You met Steven Moffat! You starred in his TV show! You hung out with his son! And you wanted to go on our shitty strip club trip?" Greg asked.

"Fair point, actually," Irene shrugged. "Louis' a nice boy. Talented too."

They were all gathered in the coffee house, waiting for Sherlock to return. Irene was clearly still thinking about the strip club. Jim was peering over the back of the sofa, probably attempting mind tricks again. Mycroft was quietly sipping a coffee, dressed in one of Greg's tracksuits. It stopped an inch or so above his ankles, and every time he raised his cup for a drink it showed a good few inches of his stomach too. Greg seemed to think it was very cute, and he kept playing with Mycroft hair. John didn't under why they didn't just get married already! God, everyone seemed to be in love to him today, he had to stop that!

A cool wind tickled John's cheeks as the door opened and Sherlock stepped in. He hurried over to their corner. "Sorry, can't stay long, Émile's waiting for me," he gushed. "Just wanted to say thank you, John."

"Thank you to me?" John asked, as if there was another John around.

"Well, yes. Of course. I don't think I had really fallen out of love with you, but now I've met Émile, I really feel as though I have. Thank you for allowing me to accompany Émile to the ballet. It was a wonderful show and he's a wonderful man. I appreciate it." He gently clapped John on the shoulder.

"No-o," John hit him back rather hard. "Thank you!" Sherlock took a hasty step back, then dashed off again. John glowered.

"Well," Mycroft stated, Greg's hand on his thigh, his head on Greg's shoulder, "those two are obviously still in love!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Up next: SEB AND JIM MEET AND THEY ARE BABIES!!! Then Greg kisses everyone because they catch him kissing Mycroft ;)
> 
> Patricia Highsmith's 'small g' is literally the cutest book ever, I love it, they're all cute, gay babies and Rickie kind of reminds me of Mark because he's an awkward, shy bby but everyone loves him and he's really artistic and cute and I want to hug him so much and I also think Luisa would look like Jenna Coleman but I dunno why. Anyway, it's great. That's pretty much all I wanted to say.
> 
> Also that I love you all for reading this x


	4. MY BABIES (aka. S9E3 - Mormor begins)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> MORMOR!!!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! I'm sorry! I'm back! Exams are over for now! Happy Halloween! I'm typing this for the fourth time because it keeps deleting, so I'm a little bit pissed!
> 
> Before we begin, I have some explaining to do, so this episode contains 'Emma' so here we go:
> 
> Emma is now a little boy called Scott, who is John's son. John had a one night stand with a girl called Rachel (see what I did there :'D) who he got pregnant. She didn't want the baby, but she didn't want an abortion either, and John decided that he wanted the baby and he would raise it alone. Sherlock said he was happy to be the father, but John said they shouldn't get back together just in case they broke up, as it would be bad for Scott. Now they live together and take care of the baby together, but Sherlock's not the dad.
> 
> Hope this isn't too confusing, but it doesn't really matter in the story, so it's fine!

Sherlock waited patiently as John opened the door, being careful to hold Scott's cradle still. He was honoured that John had wanted to name his baby after him, even more honoured that he'd allow him to help take care of Scott. He now began to doubt that he'd ever get to have his own children, but raising a little boy with John was still one of the most wonderful experiences of his life.

With the door open John stormed in, afraid he was missing out on something exciting. Mycroft was perched on the back of the sofa and Greg was nervously pacing, wringing his hands. "So, what's the big news?" He demanded. Sherlock leaned Scott's cradle against the table.

"Ah, news," Greg mumbled. He looked at Mycroft, who nodded, then continued, "Umm... The Yard has asked me to be chief of an office-" there was a general mumble of 'congratulations', "in Southport-" followed by a huge groan of protest.

"How long for?" John asked. He suddenly looked as though he wished he hadn't come. This wasn't the news he was wanting to hear.

"A year," Greg sighed. Another huge groan, intermingled with angry curse words from Irene and Jim. Sherlock tried to feel something, but he just couldn't. The emotions were there, he could feel his eye burning with tears and his hand shaking against the handle of the cradle, yet still he couldn't quite figure out what he felt. He should be sad, but he didn't feel sad. He felt like he was missing something, although what he was suppose to be missing hadn't left yet.

"And you're going too?" John addressed Mycroft.

"I guess," he grumbled in reply. "Because of this stupid thing." He waved a hand in the air to show off his wedding ring. Greg sighed softly.

"Well I've decided," Irene said loudly, "that you can't go. I'm going to the football with Greg next week, so he has to stay here."

"I'm sorry, Irene." Greg moved forward to embrace his friend. "I can't help it. I didn't want to go."

"You can't go." Sherlock took a step forward and lowered his voice so that only Mycroft could hear. "I'll miss you. All my life you've always been there for me, and I always took it for granted, but I don't know what I'm going to do without you."

"Don't worry," Mycroft smiled sadly. "You'll be just fine. You've got good friends and a baby to take care of. You don't need me anymore." Something broke inside of Sherlock, and suddenly a tsunami of emotion forced itself to the front of his mind. He inhaled sharply.

"I don't... You... Can't..." He fumbled around these new feelings, trying to form a coherent sentence. Eventually he came up with, "I'm always going to need you, Mycroft." His brother looked shocked, and incredibly touched, but didn't reply.

It was quiet for a few moments while people seemed to whisper intimate confessions and goodbyes. Murmurs of shock and 'how could you?'s. Then Jim suddenly yelled, "I call the flat!"

~

Irene passed John his coffee, then slumped down on the sofa beside him. "Thanks," he mumbled, then seemed to contemplate the coffee. "I wonder if I should have coffee when I have a baby? Really I should be sleeping whenever I can, I can't do that if I have coffee." He paused and looked over at Sherlock, who immediately frowned and curled one hand in to a fist. "Maybe I should call the doctor," John said hurriedly, pulling a phone from his pocket.

"John you are a doctor!" Sherlock snapped. "You don't need to call and speak to a doctor! You are the doctor!"

"I'm not a paediatrician though," John fussed. "I don't specialise in babies. I'm just an army doctor!" Before Sherlock could protest any more John was up and on the phone. He followed, exasperated. Jim smiled as he watched them. They fought, God they fought, but they loved each other. He could see it. In fact, everyone could see it. If John would just stop being so stupid and let Sherlock get more involved, they could be a family. Surely it was better for Scott to grow up with two dads rather than one? Jim thought it would be nice, two parents.

"It's weird, y'know," Jim mused.

"What is?" Irene asked.

"John with a baby. It's very grown up. And I think we're all being very grown up about it." He glanced over at John, with Scott in his cradle. "And it's weird."

"I suppose." They both looked over at Scott for a moment more, then Irene said, "All that stuff with Rachel, it's made me think... I want a proper relationship. She has to be hot though!"

"Yes, I know what you mean," Jim nodded. He'd always wanted a proper relationship, really, but he'd never found anyone who could quite handle his level of crazy. That or they drove him crazy. "I know! How about we set each other up?"

"I suppose that would be nice. Plus, I know all the hot guys in this city." Irene winked flirting and Jim laughed. He couldn't wait to see what amazing man Irene found for him.

~

Greg felt tired as he entered the flat. He'd always enjoyed work, to some extent, but suddenly it was terrible. It was about to ruin his life, after all, not to mention Mycroft's. He sighed. Mycroft. He didn't like to leave London for five minutes, never mind the rest of his life. Unless it was to do something even less physically demanding then sitting at a desk. Greg was fairly certain nothing that fell in to that category could be found in Southport.

Still, he tried to put on a cheery smile. "I've got good news!"

"We're not going to Southport?" Mycroft beamed, jumping up off the sofa and clasping his hands together.

"No," Greg beamed, taking Mycroft's hands in his. "You don't have to go to Southport! I've sorted out something at work. I only have to be in Southport for four days a week! Then I can be home for three days!" Greg felt excited suddenly. He was sure he'd done something great, and Mycroft would be proud. He really didn't want to move to Southport, and this way he didn't have to. And God knew all he wanted to do was please Mycroft.

"No!" Mycroft gasped, and Greg's heart dropped. "You can't go away for that long! That's two hundred and eight days a year!" Greg relaxed again. Mycroft didn't hate his idea, he just couldn't stand the thought of not seeing him every day. He could live with that.

"That's some great maths, Mr Genius," Greg smirked, resting his arms on Mycroft's shoulders and leaning in to kiss him. "We could use you in Southport." He gently  
kissed Mycroft on the nose.

"Thanks, but I'm coming with you. It's taken me long enough to find someone I actually love, I'm not letting him get away this easily." Mycroft blushed awkwardly, then dropped his head on to Greg's shoulder. "I love you," he whispered.

Greg sighed contentedly. "Love you too, My."

~

"You can't do that! You can not do that! You can't! -You can't hang up! Bastard!" John smashed the phone back in to the receiver, the sound echoing around the dark night... Or was it morning? John didn't know anymore, he'd been up with Scott since eleven. Over the course of his phone call, Scott had finally fallen asleep, but now John was seething with anger and couldn't sleep himself.

"John, what are you doing?" Sherlock, wrapped in a bed sheet, had stuck his head out of the bedroom door and was giving John a sleepy glare.

"I was on the phone to the doctor," John said angrily, but softly, so as not to wake Scott.

"Wha- why? John, you can't just call people at three am," Sherlock stressed. "Even I know that!"

"That's what his wife said," he mumbled. "But anyway, they've dropped us as-" John paused to lower his voice again, "- they've dropped us as patients! We need to find a new paediatrician now."

"What's wrong, anyway?" Sherlock looked down at Scott, who was peacefully sleeping in his cradle, his eyelids flickering ever so often. He was beautiful, with soft, blond hair like John's, and his mother's brown eyes. Sherlock loved him more than he'd ever known was possible.

"He had the hiccups, I just wanted to check." Sherlock was all ready to be mad, but he saw the way John was looking down at Scott, with such adoration and pride and just a hint of fear, that Sherlock knew he'd do exactly the same if it had been his child. "I guess I should start searching for a new doctor now..." John reached for his laptop, but Sherlock stopped him.

"It's ok, I'll do it," he smiled. "You should get some sleep." John smiled appreciatively and gently touched Sherlock on the shoulder.

"Thanks," he murmured. "Hey, what about the doctor you and Myc had when you were kids? Mycroft liked him."

"Mycroft liked him because he gave him food. He was alright, but I assume he's left London by now. I'll have a look, down worry." He ushered John off to bed, then sat down beside Scott's cradle. He wriggled a little and grabbed a fistful of blanket, so Sherlock slipped a finger in to his tiny hand. He squeezed tightly, making Sherlock smile with painful nostalgia.

"You could've been mine," he whispered sadly, before settling down on the sofa with the laptop in his hands.

~

"Hi!" Jim announced loudly as he burst in to Irene's apartment. Then he saw the look on Irene's face and began to get worried. She hadn't forgotten, had she? He couldn't comprehend it, but he'd been looking forward to this all day. He hadn't met a nice guy for a while, and he had faith in Irene.

"You haven't, by any chance, forgotten, have you?" Irene asked tentatively. Jim's heart dropped, but he told himself that it was nothing, she was just asking a normal question.

"No, of course not. I've found a lovely girl for you, she's sweet but..." He smirked and lowered his voice. "A little naughty." Unusually, Irene said nothing, and just looked ashamed. "So, tell me about my guy," Jim asked eventually. "What's his name?"

"It's-sss," Irene hesitated, "Sssebastian." She smiled at Jim, who attempted to smile back. He wasn't convinced.

"What's his surname?"

Irene paused and bit her lip. She looked around desperately, then looked back at Jim. "There's no mystery in romance!" She snapped. "Go on, go go go. Get dressed!" She ushered Jim out the door, then leant heavily against the counter. "Why did I say Sebastian? Why why why?" She mumbled. Angrily, she pulled open a drawer and got out her address book, madly flipping through the pages.

"Who am I kidding?" Irene mumbled eventually. "There are no guys in my address book!"

~

Irene burst through the door of Mycroft's flat and quickly grabbed hold of Sherlock. "Sherlock, I need a favour. You're going to give me this favour because you once googled that weird thing-"

"I already gave you that favour," Sherlock replied with a calm smile. He hadn't, but Irene would trust his opinion over her own, so that didn't matter.

"Please, Sherlock," she continued, more panicked than Sherlock had ever heard her. "I said I'd get Jim a date, and I said he's called Sebastian, how will I ever find a Sebastian? Can't you dress up and pretend to be his date? Please, I owe him this!"

Sherlock chuckled. "Tempting Irene, but I'm afraid not. I'm not particularly inclined to date Jim, and anyway, I'd think he'd recognise me." Irene sighed and dropped his arm.

"Fine," she mumbled, throwing a hopeful glance over at Mycroft.

"Married," he grinned, showing Irene the ring as if she hadn't been at the wedding.

"Oh, I know," Irene groaned, then stormed out.

"So, what seems to be your problem?" Mycroft asked, turning to John. He was fidgeting and ever so often tucking the blanket more tightly around Scott in his cradle.

"I can't find a good doctor," John snapped. "They're all creepy!"

"But... You're a doctor," Mycroft said uncertainly.

"No, I know what he means." Greg leaned across the table and narrowed his eyes at John. Mycroft hid his face in his hands.

"Come on!" John growled, frustrated. "I have to find a doctor, what if Scott gets sick before I find one?"

"Well actually the chances of that-" Sherlock began, but was quickly cut off by a sharp glare form John.

"If it's that much of a problem go to our old doctor," Mycroft offered. "It's a little out of town, but if you're struggling he was good at his job." Sherlock began to panic, glaring angrily at Mycroft, who was oblivious.

"I thought he'd left the city," John mused, turning to look at Sherlock, who tactfully looked away.

"No," Mycroft said, before Sherlock could begin to put John off again. "I saw him the other day, he's just fine."

"Oh, Sherlock said he'd left." John turned to Sherlock and smirked cockily. He would've thought it cute, had he not been racking his brains for an excuse.

"Ah, mm, must have confused him with my therapist or something," Sherlock mumbled, nodding and not meeting John's glare.

"Wait! You saw a therapist?" Greg interrupted gleefully. "Wow! I always thought Mycroft was the crazy one!" He turned to his husband, who was frowning sullenly. "I love you!" Mycroft just raised an eyebrow. "Anyway, why did you see a therapist?"

"Oh, some recurring nightmare. Nothing serious, some childish thing," Mycroft mutter with a flick of his wrist. Sherlock grinned with glee, his full attention focused on his brother's flushed cheeks.

"Would you like to tell them what my nightmare was about, brother dear?" He smirked.

Mycroft sighed. He leaned on the table, then sat back and folded his arms. He looked nervously at Greg, then finally said, "That I was going to eat him."

~

Irene raced in to the cafe so quickly that everyone stopped to stare at her. She took this opportunity to evaluate some of the men: not bad, ok, not good enough for Jim, definitely straight, ew nope, defiantly yes, but probably not called Sebastian.

Why did she have to say Sebastian? She didn't know. It wasn't even a common name, why hasn't she picked Adam, or Ben, or Mike?

Giving up on finding a nice man who also just happened to be called Sebastian, Irene got up on to a chair and yelled, "Hello! Is anyone here called Sebastian and willing to date a cute guy in his thirties? He is insane, but it's not too much to handle!"

A man with his face hidden by his collar and hat raised a hand. "I'm Sebastian," he called in a deep voice. Irene dithered. He could be ugly, she'd never know behind the collar, but he was called Sebastian and he was willing to go out with Jim.

"Here goes nothing," she sighed, heading over to the table. "Ok hello, I'm Irene, and I've got myself in to a bad situation. I promised my best friend a date but then forgot to get him one. And I accidentally told him the guy was called Sebastian. Will you come with me? I promise he's cute." She sounded like she was begging. It disgusted her, but she didn't want to let Jim down.

With a chuckle, Sebastian removed his hat and pulled his collar down. Irene gasped; he was stunning. He was probably in his early thirties, with short cropped blond hair, turquoise blue eyes, and stunning features. There was a thin scar running down his left cheek, but Jim found things like that alluring. He was perfect!

"Darling, hit me with your best shot," Sebastian purred. "I've got nothing to lose!"

~

"So, why did you agree to this, Sebastian?" Irene asked as they waited outside the restaurant.

"I just got out of a nine year relationship." With the army, Sebastian added in his head. "It was a tough break up." I nearly died. "I thought I should take some risks." I want to live life to the full, because when I thought I was going to die I realised I'd been wasting it so far and that there are so many other things I wanted to do before I got thrown in to an endless oblivion.

"It'll be fine," Irene said breezily. "Just pretend to be Sebastian, like we rehearsed."

Sebastian frowned. "We didn't rehearse."

"Oh, no, I practised it all my head and decided it would all go perfectl- ah! Here they are!" Irene grinned proudly and waved to who Sebastian assumed to be Jim, and a beautiful girl in a red dress. Irene had been right; Jim was cute. Huge brown eyes Sebastian couldn't help but stare in to. Very smart suit. Sweet smile.

"Hey, I'm Seb," he grinned, stepping forward to shake Jim's hand. "I've heard a lot of good things about you." This was true. All the way there Irene had been telling him amazing things about Jim: funny stories, what he did at work, some crazy things he was interested in.

"Fascinating," Jim mused. Sebastian grinned at his cute accent. "Although I've heard absolutely nothing about you. Do tell."

"So, who've you brought for my vey good friend, Irene?" Sebastian laughed quickly.

"Oh, this is Mary Ellen." Jim pointed to the girl beside him. "She's willing to do a lot of things you'll enjoy, Irene."

"Ji-im!" Mary Ellen fake-protested. "Ok, it's true!"

Irene nodded slowly, taking the girl in, then turned back to Sebastian. "So Jim, did you know Sebastian and I have been friends since university?" Sebastian wildly shook his head and elbowed Irene. "No, sorry," she laughed. "Since high school." He gave a quick nod to say 'that's better'.

"Yeah, I was in the army for a long time, that's why we lost touch. But I'm back now. I work for the government doing... Certain things," he smiled. For Jim, he'd happily give the game away.

"I like that, it's mysterious," Jim giggled. "A friend of mine works for the government, doing certain things. But when they don't need him for things he works in food."

"I've heard of this friend," Sebastian beamed, eager to show off what Irene had been telling him in the taxi. "He's brilliant. Sounds a little insane though." Jim laughed, and Sebastian's heart fluttered. He wanted to make Jim laugh all the time.

"I don't know about him, Irene. Seems a bit suspicious," Mary Ellen mused.

"Shh." Irene turned to glare at Mary Ellen. "They're my new OTP!"

~

"Sorry My," Greg mumbled as he tapped about in the laptop. "There really aren't many jobs up in Southport, especially for you." Mycroft nodded understandingly. He liked what he did at the moment; working with food and dabbling in other people's business were his two favourite things, but he was willing to give up both for Greg.

"Mm, slim pickings."

"You've said," Mycroft replied.

"No, it's the name of a restaurant. They want someone to clean their pizza oven. Want to clean a pizza oven, My?" Greg teased.

Mycroft considered this. He got to stay with Greg and work with Italian food? Admittedly, he had to clean an oven about three times a day, but he was sure he could convince someone else to do that; like the manager. "How much free pizza would I get?" He mused.

"Mycroft!" Greg exclaimed. "That can't seriously be a deciding factor in your job?"

"No, you're right," Mycroft nodded. "It should be a bit more general. How much free food do I get?"

"Mycroft!" Greg scolded again. "Come on, this is important. You have a really important, and good, job here. I can't expect you to leave that unless we find you an equally good job in Southport."

"I have a friend who's good at finding job placements. I'll give her a call, she can probably find me something," Mycroft offered. Greg nodded and headed in to the bedroom with his laptop, so Mycroft picked up the phone and rang his friend.

"Hello Anthea, it's Mycroft."

"Mr Holmes, to what do I owe the pleasure?" Anthea purred. Mycroft hated calling Anthea. Usually he told Anthea to call people for him.

"I need you to find me a job... In Southport." He whispered the last part. Everyone knew he was going to Southport, but he still couldn't picture himself existing anywhere but London.

"Why Southport? Are you taking a 'special trip' again?" She asked.

"No, I'm moving there," Mycroft grimaced. Anthea gasped. "My husband's been relocated, I love him too much to let him go alone."

"A valiant decision," Anthea chuckled. "I'll see what I can do." For a few moments the line was silent, then Anthea said, "Sorry, nothing really. I'll just check my emails and... OH!" Her exclamation was so loud that Mycroft dropped the phone. When he picked it up again she was gushing about something clearly very exciting. "- and they're so impressed with you, so impressed, they've been telling me for ages you're wasted in food and hygiene, this is great, this is incredible, it's such a huge promotion, I can't believe it! Mr Holmes! You'd practically be the British government!"

Then Mycroft realised what she was taking about. His 'dabbling with other people's business' was about to become a full time job. He'd always known that no matter what job he applied himself to it would never really be a challenge, which is why he'd instead gone in to an area of work he enjoyed. But after more than ten years of repetitive office work, Mycroft found himself more and more enjoying those rare moments when he was called to discuss an overseas problem, or help figure out how to prevent an economic crash. They liked using him as well, because he wasn't modest, he'd admit he was brilliant at it. And he was never, ever, wrong.

"Anthea, I," Mycroft paused. This was a very important job. No one else could do it. It was something he desperately wanted. But how could he leave Greg to go all the way to Southport on his own? "I'm sorry," Mycroft sighed. "But I have to take this job!"

~

John gently bounced Scott on his knee as they waited for the doctor. He knew he was being a crazy, overprotective father, but he couldn't stand the thought of anything happening to him. He'd been a bit unsure about having a baby on his own, but Sherlock had been really helpful and John admired him for it. He'd almost reconsidered letting Sherlock be Scott's father, but it was too risky. What if they broke up? Or Sherlock moved away? Or he just didn't want to be a father anymore? Better that Uncle Sherlock left than Daddy.

"Scott Watson," a doctor called, and John got up... Only to see Sherlock emerging from the doctor's office. John stared, mouth wide open.

"Well... I suppose he's still London," Sherlock shrugged.

~

"I'm surprised I've never heard about you, actually," Jim smirked, gazing across the table at Sebastian. He raised his eyebrows playfully. Something was off here, and he was desperate to find out what. He loved puzzles.

"We fell out," Irene said casually. "Because... He hit my mum with a car!" Jim chuckled to himself. Irene would've personally thanked anyone who hit her mum with a car, not exiled them.

"I did not hit your mother with a car!" Sebastian exclaimed, glaring at Irene.

"You did! But don't worry, I forgive you," Irene purred. Jim remembered what Sebastian had said about being at war earlier, and things really didn't seem to add up. He loved it!

"Is your mum ok?" Mary Ellen asked Irene, gently touching her wrist and pouting.

"This doesn't concern you," Irene said coldly, turning back to Jim and Sebastian.

"Jeez, you're much nicer on Nights of Our Lives," Mary Ellen sulked.

"Oh!" Sebastian exclaimed. "So that's where I know her from!"

"What?" Jim asked.

"What?" Sebastian giggled nervously.

"What?" Irene growled, glaring at Sebastian.

"You two don't even know each other, do you?" Jim sighed. He'd been hoping for something exciting, some mystery, but instead Irene had just forgot to find him a date. Sebastian wasn't mysterious, Irene just didn't know anything about him. "How many brothers does Irene have?" Jim asked Sebastian suddenly.

"Umm..." Sebastian squinted at Irene, who was obviously holding fingers up. "Five?" He said uncertainly.

"That was six, idiot!" Irene snapped. Jim was furious. Irene didn't know anything about this man, he could even have been a serial killer! Actually, Jim decided, that would have been quite cool... He could have been a priest!

"Look Jim, I'm sorry," Irene sighed. "I forgot and then I panicked, so I found you this guy. I mean, he's attractive, you're clearly interested, he obviously likes you... I don't see the problem." That was the wrong thing to say; Jim was even madder.

"Look, I'm sorry too-" Sebastian started.

"No!" Jim interrupted angrily. "You don't get to say sorry! I don't even know who you are? I spent ages finding a nice girl for Irene, and you... You could even be a priest!"

"Well... I didn't hit Irene's mum with a car. There's that," Sebastian offered. Jim growled angrily. He didn't want anyone to know how hurt he was. Or how much he'd liked Sebastian. He was the first person in a long time who'd made his heart flutter and his head spin. And he'd spent ages trying to pick the right girl for Irene, she'd just picked a man up off the streets. Admittedly, she'd picked a very attractive, interesting person, but that didn't make it hurt any less.

"I can find you someone else," Irene offered. She climbed on to her chair. "Attention please! Is anyone here called Sebastian?"

"Stop," Jim sighed feebly. "I'm going home." He walked calmly towards the door, as if nothing had even happened.

"It was very nice to meet you!" Sebastian yelled after him, and Jim smiled a little. He thought that maybe if they'd met at any other time they would've hit it off. Sebastian was to mysterious and... Hot! By the time Jim decided that maybe he'd overreacted, it was too late. A cool wind was burning his cheeks and he was all alone. So he went home.

~

Mycroft watched as Greg fussed about with his luggage, hauling things from their bedroom in to the lounge. Picking things up that he knew he'd never actually take and inspecting them, then putting them back again. He didn't want to go, and his only consolation was that Mycroft was coming with him. And even that wasn't true now. It was fair to say Mycroft felt awful.

"You know we're leaving tomorrow, right?" Greg asked, leaning over the back of the sofa. Mycroft didn't reply, so Greg leaned in and softly kissed him on the cheek, which only made Mycroft feel even worse. His sweet, loving, amazing husband was doing everything he could to make Mycroft feel good about moving to Southport, and now he wasn't even going!

"Mm, I've been thinking about that a lot," Mycroft said truthfully.

"You still ok with it? I mean, your crazy brother's here, and all your friends, and you still haven't told me if you've got a job. You can stay here a bit longer, if you like," Greg offered. He leaned against the sofa and wrapped his arms around Mycroft's shoulders. Mycroft tensed at the touch.

"Well, I have a job," he nodded. "It's just a little outside of Southport though..."

"That's ok, how far?" Greg asked. Mycroft couldn't stand his loving tone. It was worse because he loved Greg so much. If he hadn't loved him it wouldn't have hurt. This was exactly why caring wasn't an advantage.

"Try... London," Mycroft whispered. Urgh, he hated how weak his voice sounded. He wasn't scared of how Greg would react, he knew (by now) that he loved him, and wouldn't do anything to hurt him. He was scared of how he would react, in case he did something stupid that made Greg want to stay in Southport and never come back. That's the thing with relationships; you can only control half of them. And Mycroft hated it.

"Hey My, what'd you mean?" Greg climbed over the back of the sofa and sat down beside Mycroft. "Mycroft, what're you taking about?" He didn't look angry, he just looked sad, and that made Mycroft's heart ache. He'd always though he didn't have a heart, but his relationship with Greg clearly proved otherwise.

"I called Anthea, and she told me I'd been offered an incredible job. It's so important I can't even tell you what it is. Turning it down could result in incarceration. But taking it means I would not be able to go with you." Alright, maybe he was exaggerating a little, but the facts were that it was an important job and he should take it.

"Well..." Greg's pause seemed like an eternity. Mycroft began to think of what he would say next: well, that's ok (best case scenario). Well, we can figure something out (most likely scenario). Well, I'll just go without you (also a likely possibility). Well, we're getting divorced (what Mycroft was gearing up for). In the end, Greg said, "That's ok," but he said it so slowly, drawing out each word, that Mycroft was genuinely terrified for what would come after that. "It sounds like the perfect job for you, especially the mystery. And I'll come home three days a week to see you. But if you're going to be busy you have to promise me you'll eat and sleep properly, I do not want to come back for your funeral!" Then he pulled Mycroft close to his side and kissed him softly. "At least one of us will be enjoying our job."

Mycroft was stunned. His lips were still tingling from the kiss, although it was soft and caring and not at all passionate, and his mind was racing at a thousand miles an hour. Greg wasn't angry. He didn't want to leave him in London all alone until he realise how lonely he really was. He didn't want a divorce. What he really wanted was for Mycroft to be happy. Apparently, on the list of things that were important to Greg, his happiness was at the very top. This, more than anything, made Mycroft want to cry. But he didn't, of course. Because that would've been silly. Mycroft did not cry.

"You're... So... Nice!" Mycroft wailed, hiding his face in Greg's shoulder. He could feel Greg's chest shaking as he chuckled, and his hand gently rubbing Mycroft's back.

"I was asking a lot of you," Greg murmured in to Mycroft's hair. "This is your home, your friends and family live here, you have a great job. Anyway, those are much more important things than my job."

Mycroft tensed and pulled back. That wasn't what he meant. He meant those things were much more important to Mycroft than him. Which wasn't true at all. So suddenly they were right back to square one.

~

Sherlock sulkily pushed through the door, not bothering to hold it open for John. He was ready to take all of his anger out in his brother, as usual, by making him hate himself, but as soon as he caught sight of Mycroft he realised that wasn't necessary. His brother was sprawled on the kitchen table, face down and hands over his head. If he hadn't know better Sherlock would have said he was crying.

"You and Greg have a... Little domestic?" Sherlock sneered.

"No," Mycroft snapped in reply, sitting up. "We didn't! And that's the problem!"

John sauntered in to the kitchen and smirked at Sherlock, then smiled sweetly at Mycroft. "Scott and I really liked the doctor," he beamed. "And if I remember correctly, Sherlock really likes him too!"

"You promised you wouldn't say anything," Sherlock growled. At last it was only Mycroft, he thought. He knew far too many embarrassing stories about Mycroft for him to dare tell anyone else. And anyway, Mycroft probably already knew. He knew everything, almost to the point where it was creepy.

"Sherlock still goes to a children's doctor," John shouted, unnecessarily loud. There was no one else there to hear.

"Oh, quel surprise," Mycroft muttered sarcastically. "Tell me something I don't know. Like how to be sympathetic, or how to be a good husband!"

"I don't see a problem with it," Sherlock pouted, ignoring his brother. "He's a certified doctor, he knows my medical history, and I don't have to get used to a new person touching me all the time."

John nodded slowly. "Yeah, I do see your point there."

Mycroft groaned and let his head fall back against the table. "Why can't I argue like that?!"

"Because you always have to win," Sherlock replied.

~

Jim stared down at his cup of coffee, not really feeling inclined to drink it. He couldn't stop thinking about Sebastian, and he couldn't stand it. Instead of feeling like he'd walked out on a person he barely knew, he felt as if he'd broken up from a long term relationship.

Suddenly something crashed in to the back of the sofa, causing Jim to jump up and turn around. Sebastian was leaning against the sofa, looking a little windswept but gorgeous. "I was hoping I'd find you," he grinned, jumping the sofa and sitting down. Jim didn't say anything, but sat down beside him, waiting for an explanation.

"Look, I'm really sorry," Sebastian began. "I should've told you I didn't actually know your friend. I'm a bit embarrassed about that, but it's only because I really like you. Under any other circumstances I probably would've asked you out myself, if that helps. I promise I'm not a bad guy, just ask my parole officer!" Jim giggled. "Ok, apparently I'm a funny guy too."

"Why did you do it though? Why did you go with Irene?" Jim asked. It didn't really matter what Sebastian said now, he was already head over heels for him, but he was curious.

"I was told of get free food," Sebastian chuckled. "But I didn't. I was told I'd meet a great guy." He paused and gently cupped Jim's cheek in his hand. "I did."

"Hmm, I guess that's true," Jim smiled, leaning in to Sebastian's touch. "So, is anything you told me true?"

"Yeah, sure. I was in the army. I nearly died. I work in some shady government operations. Mostly with guns. My name is Sebastian. And, it was really nice to meet you." Sebastian leaned in closer, as if he was about to kiss Jim, but stopped. "So, now that you actually know who I am, do you think that, maybe, I could, possibly, take you out some time?"

"I'd like that," Jim blushed. He wished Sebastian would just hurry up and kiss him. You can't lean in this close and not kiss someone!

"And is it alright if I kiss you? Just... Just, y'know?" Sebastian fumbled. Jim let himself fall forward and sweetly kissed Sebastian, just lightly on the lips.

"Until next time," he smirked.

~

Mycroft watched as his husband said goodbye to everyone. He'd distanced himself from the huddle, purposefully making himself feel left out, and was leaning against the back of the sofa. If they'd been fighting it would've been so much easier, but instead Greg had just been nice. So nice it hurt. He'd given Mycroft a new tie and told him to wear it on his first day of work. He'd made sure there was plenty of food, and told Mycroft to look after himself. He'd even left a sweater and his favourite aftershave, in case Mycroft missed him too much.

"You can't go," John frowned. "We have a baby."

"And... Why does that mean I can't go?" Greg smiled sadly, reaching down to let Scott grab his finger.

"I don't know, you just can't." He moved the cradle away from Greg, as if in way of protest, and Scott reached desperately for his finger back.

Greg hugged Jim, and shook Sherlock's hand (which was all he would allow) then he turned to Irene. She folded her arms and glared spitefully. "I'm not saying goodbye to you," she snapped. "I'm furious! You're leaving me here with all the lame people!"

"I am, aren't I?" Greg chuckled. "Don't worry, I'll be back in three days. Then we can go watch the football." He reached out to hug Irene, who hesitated, then nodded understandingly and hugged him back. Mycroft was jealous. He couldn't understand exactly what he was jealous of, but he felt it, bubbling in his chest and threatening to spill out of his eyes. Mycroft did NOT cry.

"Come here, My." Suddenly Greg was hugging him and Mycroft wanted to cry more than ever. He'd been a terrible, terrible human being, and an even worse husband and he couldn't stand the fact that Greg was taking it so well. "I'll miss you the most," Greg whispered in to his shoulder, and Mycroft could feel his eyes burning.

"I'm such a horrible person," Mycroft replied softly, his voice shaking.

"No you're not." Greg tightened his embrace. "No, you're not. I'll see you Thursday night. Then you can tell me all about your great job and I'll tell you all about my shitty one and then we'll have sex." Greg laughed a little, but Mycroft couldn't. Thursday night was a long time away. He wanted to see Greg tonight!

"Look," Greg sighed eventually, "I have to go. I'll call you as soon as I get there, ok?" He leased back and kissed Mycroft on the cheek.

"Mm," Mycroft mumbled, and then he just let Greg go. He watched him walk out in to the dark corridor, suitcase trailing behind him. He felt like a little piece of his heart had just wandered off... So he chased it.

Mycroft jumped off the sofa and flew out the door, skidding down the corridor until he caught Greg, halfway down the first flight of stairs. "Wait!" He cried desperately. "Wait Gregory!" He stopped beside him, took a deep breath, then said, "This is how important my old job was." He held his hand down near the floor, to indicate a scale. "This is how important my new job is." He raised his hand to just below his ribs. "And this, this is how important you are." Mycroft stood on his tiptoes and reached up as high as he possibly could.

Greg grinned, then shook his head as a single tear rolled down his cheek. "Thanks mate," he whispered.

"I'll miss you so much," Mycroft said, then he hugged Greg tightly and started to cry. "I'm sorry, I'm so, so sorry, but I know you have to do this, and I have to do this, but please don't ever forget you are the most important thing in the world to me."

Tears rolled from his cheeks and on to Greg's jacket, but he didn't complain. Instead he kissed Mycroft gently, said, "I love you very much," then kissed him once more and left.

Mycroft stood there for a moment longer, listening to the sound of Greg's footsteps on the stairs, and waiting until he stopped crying. Because Mycroft Holmes did cry. And Mycroft Holmes felt things. And dear God did Mycroft Holmes have a heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft is finally the British Government!
> 
> Here's a heads up of what's coming next: S5E2 where everyone's just back from London and Mycroft and Greg are sneaking around. S5E15 where Sherlock finds out about Mystrade, and S6E1 where everyone comes back from Vegas, Mystrade are scared of getting married, and, if I remember correctly, Sherlock and John are married :'D
> 
> Also, I was talking to an English lecturer, and she said if I want to get in to a good uni course I have to have a blog (why???) but anyway I made one where I write short stories, but because it has such a shitty URL no one reads it, so if you want to read a short story I wrote it's here: 
> 
> https://shortstoriesiguess.wordpress.com
> 
> It's very slightly related to a Sherlock thing (the story this short story comes from) but basically I had a brilliant idea for a TV show, that I can't write because 1. It would take forever and 2. If I did write it no one would read it, but if you read my short story have a guess at what 'my TV show' is about, because it's cool, I promise!
> 
> Anyway, that's boring. Thanks :D
> 
> Checked the chapter these notes are now doing something weird, it's adding the notes from my first chapter too? Please ignore it if you see and sorry, but I don't know what it's doing!


	5. S5E2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John returns from an inpromptu trip (alone) Sherlock mopes about due to the sudden disappearance of his new husband and Greg and Mycroft sneak about (and snog).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OH MY GOD!!! Je suis désolée! J'ai retourné! Salut mes amis! My exams are not really over, they start again next week, merde, but for now I have a break! I feel like I've been writing this chapter for years, I'm so sorry! It's definitely not my best work, there's parts I'd like to develop more and I haven't check my spelling or grammar yet, so prepare for mistakes, but I thought I'd just better get it up before I went to sleep. Also, Janine is Jim's half sister, because it's a waste if she's not, so she's effectively Frank in this fix. Let's just get on with it, I think!

* * *

Everything around Mycroft was amazing. The warm water felt amazing on his skin. The sweet scent of the vanilla candles mingling with the lavender bubble bath was amazing. The taste champagne still lingering on his tongue was amazing. And Greg was amazing. Greg was always amazing.

"You look cute, My," Greg purred suddenly, smiling sweetly at him. Mycroft felt uncomfortable then. Why did Greg have to look at him? That was just awkward! He blushed slightly and scooped the bubbles closer towards him. Then, on second thoughts, he cupped a pile of bubbles in his hands and swept them over his head.

Greg giggled. "You're so cute!" He leaned forward and wiped the bubbles from Mycroft's lips, then kissed him softly. That, Mycroft thought, was amazing! He leaned forward and wrapped his arms around Greg's neck, not kissing now, just leaning his forehead against Greg's. He felt so warm and safe, he'd never felt like that in a relationship before.

Mycroft started and jumped back as there was a loud knock at the door. "It's Irene, I'm coming in," Irene called from the other side of the door. Mycroft looked startled, then took a deep breath and ducked under the water.

"Come in!" Greg called in a panic, hoping to get it over with before Mycroft ran out of breath.

"He - what are you doing?" Irene gasped, looking around at the fancy candles and the mountains of bubble bath, and the glasses of champagne on the side of the bath.

"It's been a hard day, ok? Just, what, what do you want? What?" Greg gushed. Mycroft could just hear his voice, slightly muffled, beneath the water.

"Alright," Irene shrugged. "I just wanted to know if you want some fried chicken?" She asked innocently.

"Nope, no. No fried chicken. Thank you, Irene, you can go, bye." Greg waved Irene away and Mycroft hear the door shut again. He pushed his head to the surface and took a deep breath, blinking the water from his stinging eyes.

"I want some chicken," Mycroft moaned the second he got his breath back. Greg sighed impatiently, then shoved Mycroft's head rather ungraciously back under the water. They were still friends, after all.

"Irene," he yelled. She popped her head back in to the bathroom. "Actually, I could do with some chicken. And a Co- aw!" He yelped as Mycroft kicked him under the water. "A Diet Coke! Thank you! Bye!"

"O-ok," Irene murmured, nodding. She stared at Greg for a second, perplexed, and he scowled back. Irene shrugged and left again.

Mycroft stuck his head back up. "Are you trying to kill me?!" He exclaimed, waving his arms and accidentally sending a tidal wave of water on to the floor. "I'll clean that," he added quickly.

"Hey, I didn't tell you to go under the water!" Greg retorted. "You nearly drowned yourself!"

"I did not," Mycroft huffed, crossing his arms. He was about to say that he was an excellent swimmer, but that wasn't really true. He'd never bothered with proper lessons, and as a result he could barely swim a length. He was fairly confident with his breath-holding abilities though. "You're trying to kill me with your full fat Coke!"

"Diet Coke gives you cancer!" Greg exclaimed.

"Normal Coke makes you fat!" Mycroft didn't understand how Greg wasn't getting this. He wouldn't want to... Do whatever they were doing if he was fat!

"Why are you like this?" Greg asked suddenly, his voice soft and his eyes full of pity. Mycroft hated being pitied, especially by Greg, but he knew that it was only because he cared about him, not because he thought badly of him. "When did you get it in your head that having cancer is better than being fat?"

"Well no one's ever discriminated against me for having cancer," Mycroft replied bitterly. "But then again, I've never actually had cancer. Maybe they would."

"I don't care what other people think." Greg leaned forward to gently kiss Mycroft's forehead. "I care that my boyfriend isn't hurt."

Mycroft froze, so still he was even holding his breath. Boyfriend. Boyfriend! BOYFRIEND! He sighed deeply and giggled like a school girl, hiding his face in Greg's shoulder. "Boyfriend," he chuckled stupidly. He knew he was being an idiot, but he felt absolutely giddy.

"Yeah," Greg smirked, running his fingers through Mycroft's hair and getting them tangled in the wet curls. "That ok?"

Greg leaned in and kissed Mycroft's shoulder, making him feel faint with happiness. And Greg wanted to know if that was ok? "It's amazing!" Mycroft beamed.

~

Greg blinked sleepily and leaned his elbows on the table, staring at Mycroft. Last night had been indescribable. They'd waited until Irene had left (leaving their chicken on the kitchen table) then crept out of the bathroom, not knowing why they were bothering to be quiet anymore. Still huddled in their towels, they'd sat on the sofa, eating and talking in hushed voices. It had felt intimate despite the fact that it was barely a step up from what they'd done as friends.  
  
After that Greg had dried Mycroft's hair (it didn't really need drying, he was just desperate to know what it looked like without product) and sadly told him that Irene would be home soon, so he should probably go. Mycroft stubbornly refused, instead saying he'd sneak out in the morning, to which Greg was grateful.  
  
He'd given Mycroft an old T-shirt to wear, which was just a little too short, so he spent a good while trying to pull it down. Greg though he looked adorable in causal clothing.  
  
Instead of going to sleep they'd stayed up talking for hours, Mycroft's head buried in the crook of Greg's neck. They whispered softly and kissed ever so often, not talking about anything important, just murmuring in the dark. Greg had desperately wanted to tell Mycroft that he loved him, but felt like it was too soon, like it was inappropriate. Instead he'd settled for kissing Mycroft gently and whispering, "You're my favourite person," then holding him tightly all night.  
  
Now Mycroft was making eyes at him across the table, trying to do a flirty eyebrow raise, but failing mainly due to the fact that he didn't really have eyebrows. Greg chuckled, which earned him a glare from Irene. She did seem to be noticing that he was acting strangely.

"Hi." The door opened and Jim walked in, looking a little flustered. "I've just met the most insane cab driver," he began excitedly.

"Was his name Angus?" Irene interpreted, causing Greg and Mycroft to chuckle. They'd had some good times in Angus' cab (him and Mycroft especially).

"Who's Angus?" Jim sighed. He was clearly sick of everyone talking about New York, and could guess exactly what Irene was about to say.

"Oh, just some cab driver we had in NYC," Irene said breezily, realising her mistake. Somehow she'd still managed to make it sound cool.

"Ha ha ha, sure he was hilarious, anyway-" Jim tried to continue, but was rapidly cut off.

"Where was that place we went?" Mycroft almost demanded. "We went several times, always with Angus. Fabulous place." Greg remembered the place. Cosy little Irish place near 35th. He'd kissed Mycroft in the gents' room, then tried his best to hold his hand under he table all night.

"The Shamrock," he murmured with a soft smile. "So umm... What were you going to say, Jim?"

"Nothing. I was going to say nothing," Jim pouted. He folded his arms in a childlike manner and planted himself on the sofa. Then Sherlock walked in.

~

Sherlock didn't know how he was going to face his friends. He'd said the wrong name at the altar, then given up on his new husband and tried to go on holiday with his best friend, then abandoned his best friend to chase his husband.

He could already imagine the expression on his brother's face, the same one he always wore when looking at Sherlock; pure disappointment. And of course Greg would support Mycroft, he always did. They seemed even closer than usual now, but Sherlock was too preoccupied to find out why.

As for John? Well, Sherlock was fully prepared for John to never want to speak to him again. He hadn't wanted to leave him, but by the time he'd realised that it was too late. Some things, Sherlock thought, were best left unsaid.

"Sherlock, remember The Shamrock," Irene grinned, before Sherlock could say anything. Of course he remembered The Shamrock, his life had actually been going well on those nights. He had his fiancé and some of his closest friends nearby (well, and Mycroft) and although it was distinctly lacking John it was a nice little place.

"Mm, yeah," Sherlock mumbled. "I think we have an Irish bar in Soho somewhere, if you want to check it out." Irene's face lit up.

"I may do just that." And then she was gone.

There was a long pause while everyone considered The Elephant In The Room, until eventually Sherlock said, "Isn't John suppose to be back by now?"

"Mm, his plane got delayed though," Mycroft hummed. If Sherlock hadn't been so absorbed in his own thoughts he would've seen how lovingly Mycroft was staring across the table at Greg. He would've seen that Greg was blushing slightly, and from just one glance he would've been able to tell just how much that man adored his brother. Or maybe he did notice, but the thought of his emotionally inept brother finding love when he couldn't even pull his life together was too much.

"Have you spoken with him? What did he sound like?" Sherlock asked anxiously.

"He sounded like someone who was abandoned at the airport," Mycroft smirked. Sherlock sent him a murderous glare, mumbling something about NOT abandoning John, before sitting down beside Jim, who was also still sulking.

"Have you heard from Émile yet?" Jim asked, glad to have found someone more miserable than himself.

"No, I was conflicted and I dithered. John or Émile. In the end I couldn't choose and I lost them both. I've finally found people I care about and I seem to have let them down. How suiting." Suddenly he felt a hand on his shoulder, gentle and comforting.

"You haven't let anyone down, Sherlock," Mycroft murmured. "John will forgive you. And only time will tell with Émile. You rushed in to things, which is so unlike you, maybe it just wasn't meant to be." He paused for a second and frowned. "Look at me, being the cliché kind older brother. How unlike me!" He spun around in a rather dramatic fashion, even for Mycroft, and sat back down beside Greg. Sherlock pretended not to notice how Greg patted Mycroft's thigh and smiled reassuringly.

A click signalled the door opening again, and this time a large, black case was shoved through, followed by a very sun-tanned John. His eyes widened when he saw Sherlock, but he quickly looked away, pretending to be busy. Sherlock, of course noted this.

Greg got up to greet John, helping him with his suitcase and mumbling a greeting, but Sherlock found he couldn't put this off any longer.

"John, I must apologise," he blurted out. "What I did was uncalled for, and it was wrong of me to even suggest our vacation. I value your friendship more than any other-" this caused a cry from Greg "- and pray that I haven't damaged it beyond repair."

John smiled softly, making Sherlock's heart ache. How had he ever found himself such a warm companion? "Don't worry," John beamed. "You did what you had to to save your marriage. I hold no grudges."

Sherlock had expected John to be cold and disgruntled, but this turn of events frightened him even more. John was clearly beyond mad, but he was suppressing his feelings in order to spare Sherlock's. Sherlock knew that feeling all too well.

"I'm sure it must have been terrible for you though, being stood up like that. Please, allow me to repay you in any way I can." Sherlock wished he would yell. He wanted John to furrow his brows and scowl and be furious that he'd left him, but instead John just smiled again.

"What's not to like? I was in a great country, nice hotel. Don't worry about it mate."

Sherlock reached forward to hug John, then thought bette of it and pulled back to pat him on the shoulder. "John, I could never ask for a better friend. Thank you." John nodded understandingly, then moved past Sherlock to put his bags away. Sherlock thought that maybe he should go and order some flowers. Or some chocolate. No, that was more his brother's department, flowers would do. He sighed.

~

"It was very gracious of you, John, to be so good about the whole thing," Mycroft mumbled. It was said with slightly less elegance than usual, due to the fact that he had half a piece of toast in his mouth at the time.

"I know. I keep making stupid decisions, like bloody going away to begin with. It's like I can't be trusted to make decisions anymore," John frowned.

"I'll make your decisions for you," Mycroft offered ecstatically. John looked over at Mycroft. He was still wearing striped pyjamas and he now had chocolate on his face. His hair was unusually messy. This was not the kind of person, John thought, who should be making other people's decisions, but he was quite desperate.

"Sure, why not?" He shrugged. Couldn't hurt to give it a go. Mycroft was usually very logical, and, unless love was concerned, very sensible. All in all, he could have a worse person controlling his life.

"I told you you should've stayed in London," Jim called bitterly from the sofa. "New York's stupid. You were stupid for going. It's stupid."

"Thanks for that helpful input, Jim," John scowled. The fact that Jim was completely correct only worsened his mood. Why couldn't he just have let Sherlock be happy? He hated Émile with everything he had, but for God's sake couldn't he have managed for Sherlock? John decided he was an awful friend.

"Well, I've gotta go," Greg piped up. He got up from the table, then leaned over and gently kissed Mycroft. For a moment John continued to stare at the floor; Greg kissing Mycroft wasn't exactly new, they kissed on New Years and when they hadn't seen each other for a while. But as the kiss dragged on John began to feel uncomfortable, as Greg's tongue was clearly some way down Mycroft's throat.

It was a sweet kiss, Greg's fingers knotted in Mycroft curls, both of them smiling stupidly, but John was still disturbed. What were they playing at? He coughed lightly, as if to signal his presence. Greg immediately pulled away.

"So, yeah, umm... Bye Mycroft," he stuttered awkwardly. Then he turned to John. "Nice to... Have you... Back..." He almost pulled away as he leaned in to kiss John, but swallowed his pride and did it anyway. Mycroft glared jealously.

"Yeah, nice," Greg muttered as he pulled away, purposefully not making eye contact with John or Mycroft. He started to make his way over to Jim, then thought better of it, and stumbled out of the apartment. John turned to Mycroft for an explanation.

"It's an... American thing?" He offered lamely.

~

Mycroft watched anxiously as his photos were passed around. Finger prints wrecked havoc with shiny films and careless exchanges caused them to bend and crease. His curled his shaking hands in to fists. It would not do to say anything just now, but his OCD was driving him insane.

"Gregory, they're not holding them by the edges," he whined quietly. Greg smiled sympathetically and gently took one of Mycroft's hands.

"Don't clench your fists so hard," he murmured. "It's not good for you." Mycroft sent Greg a panicked look, but it didn't matter; no one was watching them. Irene had handed John a picture of Sherlock and Émile and he was now furiously ranting at it. Mycroft squeezed Greg's hand a little tighter.

"Sherlock!" John ranted. "Sherlock is married! Of all people! Sherlock Holmes!" He turned to look at, or rather through, Mycroft. "You wouldn't get married, would you Mycroft? It's not your thing. No, of course you wouldn't, you don't really care about people. Neither does Sherlock. He can't be married!"

As John spoke his fist began to tighten around the photograph and Mycroft shivered. "Any chance you could... Hold it by the edges?" He tried.

"What?" John looked down at what was in his hand as if he hadn't even realised he was holding it. He glared at it, Sherlock happy and smiling with an arm around someone who wasn't him. He snapped and ripped the picture in two. Mycroft buried his face in Greg's shoulder.

John let the pieces fall to the floor, still staring. That hadn't fixed anything. Really it had just made him feel bad for Mycroft. "Sorry Myc," he sighed.

"It's not your fault I'm insane," Mycroft replied sadly. "Don't worry about it." Now John felt even worse.

"I think I'm just going to go." He started to get up, but Irene grabbed his hand and stopped him.

"Come on," she smiled. "Don't worry about Sherlock. There are loads of great guys here." She scanned the room, finding only one old man having coffee on his own, a couple, a woman with her daughter, and two girls having coffee together that Irene didn't think were on a date. "Well... There are two half decent girls here! I'm lucky you're bi. Go talk to them!"

John thought for a moment, but shook his head. "I don't think..."

"I make your decisions and I say you go," Mycroft interrupted. He could tell just from looking at them that John wouldn't get on that well with either of the girls, but he feared for his other photos.

John hummed softly, looked down at the pieces of torn up photograph on the floor, then nodded. "Ok, I'll go." He headed slowly over to the table, passing Jim on his way.

"Hi," Jim slumped down in to John's chair. "Talking about New York, by any chance?" Mycroft clutched his pictures closer to his chest. Jim didn't look in any mood to handle them appropriately.

"Hey Jim!" Greg leaned over Mycroft, putting a hand on his thigh. "John's chatting up a girl!" He pointed, very unsubtly, to the back of the cafe.

"That's definitely more exciting than New York!" Jim beamed. Irene moved over on the sofa so they could all fit on, then they turned and peered over the back, watching John flirt. Greg slowly allowed his hand to drop to Mycroft's ass. No one was looking.

They watched and smirked as John made some awkward gestures, then gasped as he scribbled something down on a piece of paper and handed it to the girl. As he turned and began to return to the sofa they quickly scrambled to look inconspicuous. Irene eyes Greg's hand, then raised an eyebrow at him. He shrugged in reply. "Eh, I'd do the same," she grinned eventually.

By the time John sat down in his chair everyone had attempted to move on to a new topic of conversation, but they were utterly unconvincing due to the fact that the new topic was 'heey, quite sunny out, right?'

"Fine, just tell us what happened, you know we were watching," Mycroft snapped.

"Oh, y'know, this and that," John smiled. "Got myself a date tomorrow night!"

"That's nice, what's-" Irene tried.

Jim interrupted, "Boring! No, let's go back to talking about the weather!"

~

Greg tentatively opened the door to John and Mycroft's apartment. This relationship was still new and he'd already messed things up. As far as he was concerned you only got one Mycroft Holmes in your lifetime and he intended to marry his. It had been a bit of a surprise, finding out Mycroft would actually want to date him, but Greg considered it the best surprise of his life. And he planned to be the best boyfriend in the world for Mycroft Holmes.

Mycroft was leaning on the back of the sofa, alone, waiting eagerly for his arrival. "Hey," Greg smiled softly, cupping Mycroft's cheek in one hand and kissing him. He could feel Mycroft grinning against his lips.

"You took a little while," Mycroft whispered when they finally pulled apart. "I was just thinking that maybe you didn't want to come and... And..." He trailed off. He couldn't bring himself to say it.

Greg took Mycroft's hands and settled his head against his shoulder. "I'd never not want to see you," he murmured. "I really like you My, you're brilliant. I was just caught up at the Yard, that's all. I wouldn't do that to you."

"That's nice to know," Mycroft hummed, but he was already distracted leaning in for another kiss, insecurities soothed for the moment. Greg pulled Mycroft closer, hands teasing the hem of his shirt. Mycroft tentatively ran a hand through his hair-

Click. The door flew open and Greg quickly pulled away from Mycroft. "So... So... So nice of you to have me over!" He stuttered, untangling his hands from Mycroft's shirt. He stumbled over to John, then grimaced. He did not want to kiss him again. He considered making a dash for it, but then he thought of his relationship with Mycroft and how desperately he wanted to maintain it. He leaned in and awkwardly kissed John. "See you later," he grumbled, cheeks scarlet. He looked Jim up and down, then kissed him chastely. "And you." Irene. God did Greg not want to kiss her. She was possibly the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen, but they were best friends.

"Nope, not me!" Irene hopped out the way and safely behind the kitchen table. Greg breathed a silent sigh of relief.

"Well, umm, see ya," he called, before darting out of the flat and through the door across the hall. Heart pounding, he locked the door and leaned against it for good measure. He had kissed Mycroft Holmes. In his apartment. And they'd almost been caught. But they hadn't been! And Mycroft's lips were so soft and surprisingly warm and he felt so sturdy and solid and kissable and... Greg sighed happily. He would risk anything for even one more kiss with that man.

~

"What the hell is that?" Jim demanded, causing Mycroft to shrink back against the sofa. He knew what that was, the best kiss of his entire life. But he couldn't exactly say that.

Lips still tingling, Mycroft choked out, "I guess... I guess it was a sort of American thing that he picked up. In New York. In America."

"That was not American!" John was leaning over the sink, washing his mouth out. "That's was disturbing! I don't want to French kiss a man who's just French kissed Mycroft!" He straightened up again.

"Well, I don't mind," Jim chuckled, throwing a flirty wink at Mycroft. He gave him a stony glare in reply. Mycroft had kissed an awful lot of people in his life, but now he'd kissed Greg he couldn't imagine kissing anyone else. He was gentle but passionate, always touching Mycroft in soft, intimate ways that made him feel elated. Was Mycroft in love with him? No, they'd been dating for barely a week. You couldn't fall in love after just a week, could you? Or maybe he'd always loved him but was just realising it now. No, Mycroft thought, that was stupid. But he'd better go over to Greg's apartment and see him, not because he loved him thought. Obviously.

Irene eyed him suspiciously as he left.

~

John was pleasantly surprised that Delilah had wanted to walk him home from the date. He'd had an enjoyable time, she was an interesting girl, but he had to admit he'd been thinking about Sherlock the whole time. He hoped he hadn't looked too distracted.

"I had a nice time, thank you," Delilah said as they reached his door. She had a slightly annoying, squeaky voice that John had overlooked due to her great personality.

"Yeah, me too," he smiled. On a whim he decided to ask her inside. She agreed slightly nervously, but John suddenly realised that Mycroft might be in. "Sorry, just wait a minute. My roommate might be in," he said, ducking in to the apartment. And there was Sherlock, sat on the sofa looking very forlorn. John paused, took a glance at Delilah, then stepped inside.

"Um, hey, Sherlock," he said softly. Sherlock turned to look at him with large, doleful eyes. "Is Myc in?"

"No, he's out doing laundry." Sherlock's reply lacked its usual energy and spark. "I can go, if you'd prefer. I just wanted to see my brother, but since he's not around I don't know what I'm doing moping around here. I can mope just as well in my own apartment."

John looked at the door, behind which was waiting his wonderful date. Then he looked at Sherlock, slumped on the sofa. It was really no competetion, although maybe he was an idiot for thinking that. He'd had a chance with Sherlock, it was over, and trying it again was just far too painful, but he couldn't help it. All he wanted in the world was Sherlock Holmes.

Peering out the door again, John whispered softly, "Look Delilah, I'm really sorry, but I think we'll have to leave it here tonight. My friend's gone through... A nasty break up recently and he's having a tough time. He has a tendency to do stupid things when he's upset, and I just want to be there for him."

"I understand," Delilah nodded. She couldn't help but add, "He's a lucky man," as she jogged down the stairs.

John returned to the apartment and sat down beside Sherlock. They didn't say anything, but they didn't need to. It was a comforting silence. John placed a hand on top of Sherlock's. Sherlock smiled softly.

John was fully prepared to sit there all night with Sherlock, if he would allow it, but a few minutes later Mycroft burst through the door. He opened his mouth to make a smart, sarcastic comment, as he was accustomed, then thought better of it and beckoned John in to the hall.

"I thought you were doing-" John started, but Mycroft interrupted him.

"What do you think you're doing? Never repeat your mistakes, that's the mark of a stupid man! You can't date my brother, you tried that, remember?" He hissed. John could tell this was a serious conversation, because Mycroft stood up tall and straightened his unusually wrinkled shirt. He could be awfully intimidating when he wanted to be; he had the kind of presence that could command a room.

"As a matter if fact I just had a date with a lovely girl," John argued. It was futile, really, an argument with Mycroft, but John thought he'd better give as good as he got.

"Who, Delilah? The girl I just ran in to on the stairs? Sounds to me like you blew her off..." He dragged the sentence out with a painful pause between each word. "I suggest you go and reconnect with your date and leave my brother to me."

John considered what Mycroft had said. Mycroft would take care of Sherlock, he'd only been doing it his entire life, and John would give Sherlock the space he needed and go and have a pleasant evening with Delilah. It would be easy enough to agree to that, but John knew he couldn't actually bring himself to do it. There was something he needed to say, something he hadn't even dared admit to himself since New York.

"Mycroft... I can't do that. I can't go after Delilah. I'm still in love with Sherlock."

"What?" Mycroft dropped his shoulders and allowed his shirt to crumple. He was ready for the type of argument where he would hurl trashy insults and cross his arms and ball his fists. "John, you cannot say that!"

"I know," he sighed. "But I have to!" He couldn't allow those words to go unsaid again. He should've said them years ago, when they first met, or at least when he first moved in with Mycroft, but he hadn't. He didn't want to regret not saying them again.

"You do not have to!" Mycroft countered. "I get to make your decisions, and I say you do not tell my brother you love him!"

"Well, I don't want you making my decisions anymore. You make stupid decisions, you can't even get yourself a boyfriend, why should you get to sort out my love life?" That was a low blow. Mycroft had been having a little boy trouble lately, but it was cruel of John to bring it up. Before Mycroft could retaliate he ducked in to the flat and locked the door, leaving a shocked Mycroft in the hall.

"I didn't even do anything, let me in!" Mycroft demanded, pounding on the door. "I want to talk this through with you! You're doing something stupid!"

"He's usually doing something stupid," Sherlock called in reply.

"Hey, do you want to be on the other side of that door?" John said playfully. The thought that Sherlock was happy enough to tease him brought a smile to his face.

"For God's sake John, this is my apartment, let me in!" The door rattled violently as Mycroft seemingly rammed it with his shoulder. Despite having the same slender build as his brother there was a lot more weight to Mycroft's frame, broader shoulders, wider torso. His punches packed a lot of weight. John actually thought he would make an excellent boxer, as he was graceful and light on his feet but heavy enough to do serious damage. That is, if he could be bothered. Mycroft's current exercise regime was occasionally taking the stairs when the lift was broken. John feared that if Mycroft hit the door one more time he could possibly bring the whole wall down. So he opened the door.

"Aw!" Mycroft fell straight through the doorway and on to the floor. He groaned and refused to get up. At least Sherlock seemed entertained.

"I'll drop it for now," John chuckled, helping a deflated Mycroft to his feet. "You earned it!"

~

Jim begrudgingly allowed himself to be shoved in to the cafe by Sherlock. Everyone had something to tell him, which he was excited about, but he didn't appreciate being man handled by London's current most miserable man.

"Hi Jim!" Irene called, waving excitedly. That was unusual. Irene was usually far too sophisticated and elegant to wave like that. She must've been excited about something.

"Hi," Jim smiled, sitting down on the floor and leaning against the armrest of John's chair. "So, what do you have to tell me?"

"We've felt bad lately, about talking about NYC so much," Greg said. "So we thought we'd all go somewhere, on a trip."

"Not far, and just for the weekend," Mycroft chipped in. "We all have busy lives here."

"And we're going to Brighton!" Irene exclaimed. "Sorry, I'm just in awe of my brilliant idea."

"That was my idea," Sherlock grumbled.

"Oh, hush sweetie," Irene purred condescendingly.

"Wow," Jim grinned. "That's so sweet of you all. I'm sorry I made you feel bad for having a good time in New York, I just felt a bit left out of everything. I can't wait for this trip. You guys are amazing."

"Yes, we are, aren't we." Sherlock smirked at Irene, who rolled her eyes.

"Well, I guess we'd better start packing them," Greg said, getting up.

"Wait, wait!" John interrupted. "Before you leave, this new kissing thing, I'm not having it. You're not to kiss any of us from now on, it's weird."

"Fine, fine, I was just trying to bring a little culture to the group," Greg exhaled, winking at Mycroft.

"Well, all you did was bring it to my mouth," Jim said as he followed Greg to the door. John and Sherlock remained on the sofa. As Mycroft got up he shot John a wary look.

"You'd better not," he snapped, before following the others out the door.

Sherlock turned to John and smiled playfully. "Big Brother's watching you very carefully, what've you done?"

"Nothing, yet," he replied. They stared at each other for a second. "Sherlock, I'm about to do something I might regret. I don't expect you to say anything in reply, but it's just one if those things I have to do. Do you understand?" Sherlock nodded, giving John his fully concentration. "Sherlock... I'm still in love with you. It's silly, I know, you're married and its complicated, but I don't expect anything back. I just want you to know."

Sherlock thought carefully on this for several moments. "I am married," he said eventually. "And I haven't spoken to my husband since the wedding. I don't even know where he is. It was a stupid idea, we rushed in to it. I should've considered your feelings about the wedding, too. And I should've said the right name at the altar." They both chuckled. "So I suppose what I'm saying is that although I will always love you, John Watson, how is not the right time for me to reciprocate your feelings. I don't want you tangled up in all this. Do you understand."

"I do," John said. And he did. And that was all they needed to say on the matter, for the moment.

~

As everyone waited eagerly by the door the phone rang, and Jim mentally cursed. Couldn't they just get going already? They were missing vital seconds of their break! But Mycroft was stood right beside the phone, so of course he'd answer it.

"Hello," he said politely. A loud screech erupted on the other end. "It's for you," Mycroft said a few moments later, looking slightly dazed and holding the phone out to Jim. He took it tentatively.

"Hi?"

"James Moriarty why are you not home?" Janine screamed down the phone. Jim began to reply, but she continued, "The babies are coming, Jim! And I need you here! I need you here as soon as I have these babies! Get over here now!"

"It's your fault I can't have nice things, Janine!" Jim yelled in reply, annoyed that once again he wouldn't be going away. "But I'll be there as fast as possible, make sure you get to hospital! Love you, see you soon!" He excitedly put the phone down. "Janine's having her babies! I'm nearly an uncle!"

~

As everyone else raced down the corridor behind Jim, Greg lagged behind and grabbed Mycroft's hand. "Hey," he smiled.

"Hey."

"I can't believe Janine's having her babies. Jim's going to be an uncle." He removed his hand from Mycroft's and wrapped it around his waist instead.

"Yeah, it's beautiful," Mycroft smiled.

"I can think of something else that's beautiful right now." Greg stopped him and leaned in slightly. "Can I kiss you?"

"That sounds good," Mycroft giggled. Greg softly ran his thumb over Mycroft's freckled cheek, then moved in for a gentle kiss. "I can't believe you kissed all those people for me," he whispered when they pulled away.

"I'd do anything for you," Greg beamed. And he gazed at Mycroft so lovingly that he actually believed him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, so that happen. Next I will be writing S6E1 followed by S5E15 (I think it's 15, I have it written down somewhere) then an episode I think will go really well with Sherlock, that no one requested but I want to get it done before even more serious exams start. I have exactly three months until said serious exams (with other exams in between) and five months until summer, when I will open requests again and do nothing but write! Sorry, but I just think it's best that I'm not stressed about updating this and y'all don't get left waiting for a million years like you did then!
> 
> So... We had a new season... I'm not going to go in to much detail because I'm sure some of you loved it and some of you hated it, but let's just say I'm not impressed. The plot was inconsistent, several implications I found very sexist, and they went from 'sometimes the villains are gay' to 'yup we're definitely queercoding our villains'. I don't believe any of this was intentional, just laziness and stupidity. But there were certainly things I liked, like baby Holmes children (Tom is such a cutie, oh my god!!!). So feel free to chat about it whether you liked it or not :)
> 
> I found a super old Mystrade fic I was writing and it's actually not that bad. I had big plans for it, but the chapters are so long (like 20 000 words!) that I'm only two and a half chapters in (plus an intro). I might work on it a bit in summer then post it. I know it's forever away, but anyone interested?
> 
> Thank you so much if you've stuck around, I promise I'll try to update the next few sooner!


	6. S6E1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John and Sherlock got married. Greg and Mycroft are terrified they'll have to get married. Jim and Irene take a road trip.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bonjour! I am back again, but it probably still took ages, sorry! There is a lot of Mystrade fluff this chapter and a bit of Johnlock angst. I don't even know if anyone reads these so I'm just going to get on with it.
> 
> This chapter contains:  
> \- a brief description of accidental murder  
> \- Sherlock being a bit rude about Mycroft's weight  
> \- Mycroft being a bit worried about what Sherlock says  
> \- Greg being a very loving bf  
> \- a random hitchhiker  
> \- references to sex but nothing happens, obviously!
> 
> Please enjoy, or don't, I'm not that great :)

Greg glanced across at Mycroft. He loved him. He loved him more than he'd ever loved anyone before in his life. He wanted to spend the rest of his life with him. Yet somehow the thought of marrying him still filled Greg with dread.

Of course, he wanted to marry Mycroft eventually. Greg had never cared much for the celebration, he found it a little tacky and old fashioned, but Mycroft had wanted this since he was five, and Greg would do anything for him. Even this; get married in Blackpool with none of their friends or family around, all because Mycroft got lucky at dice.

He looked around the little chapel. On the walls were old photographs of married couples, most of whom were probably dead now. The carpet was frayed and dirty, the wallpaper faded, even the chair he was sat on had lost most of its upholstery. And the whole place stank of booze. Greg thought, Mycroft deserves better than this. The man should have his wedding in Buckingham palace, not this old dump. Or was Greg just trying to put himself off? He didn't know.

"So... We're getting married." Greg tried to muster up some enthusiasm, but fell flat.

"Are you sure we want to do this?" Mycroft asked. If it hadn't been for the chapel doors suddenly being thrown open Greg surely would've taken the time to evaluate Mycroft's worried tone of voice, but as it were a very drunk, giggly Sherlock Holmes and John Watson were stood in the doorway.

Greg's mouth fell open in shock. They were both dressed in smart suits they had brought, though rather haphazardly, and Sherlock had a cheap veil clipped in his hair. John laughed and chucked the bouquet in their general direction. It hit Mycroft in the chest, but he was too stunned to move.

"Congratulations, Mr Holmes," Sherlock slurred, leaning down to kiss John.

"Congratulations, Mr Watson," John giggled, kissing Sherlock lightly.

They stumbled to the door, arm in arm, before looking around and going their separate ways. Greg looked over at Mycroft, whose expression made it seem as though he'd been shot. He stood up, allowing the bouquet to drop from his lap, then promptly sat down again, legs shaking.

"That was my fucking brother," he said clearly. Greg was slightly taken aback. Mycroft rarely swore in proper sentences, and when he did it was usually something he added on to the end, in a hushed voice no one could hear.

"Hey, no swearing in the chapel," a lady from the reception desk called.

"That-" Mycroft turned to the lady and gestured out the door, "Was my fucking little brother!"

"I said no swearing in the-" Irene and Jim raced through the door and skidded to a halt in front of the open chapel doors. Who else is getting married? Greg thought bitterly. "Hey, no running in the chapel!" The receptionist yelled.

"We're too late!" Jim exclaimed. "We're too late, we're too late, we're too late!"

"We're too late!" Irene wailed beside him. Then she caught site of Mycroft and Greg and immediately pulled herself together. "Oh! Hello boys," she purred. "You miss it too?"

"Miss it?" Greg fumbled. "Umm, yeah, yeah, just missed it. Umm, damn?" Mycroft rolled his eyes at Greg's poor acting skills.

"Well maybe we wouldn't have missed it if we'd been allowed to. Run. In. The. Chapel," Jim scowled, glaring at the receptionist.

"This is absolutely ludicrous!" Mycroft snapped, standing abruptly.

"I don't see what the big deal is," Jim shrugged, which only enraged Mycroft even more. "It's not like it's a real marriage, is it?

"What do you mean?" Greg asked, trying to sound casual.

"Well, it's Blackpool, isn't it? If you're married in Blackpool it doesn't really count," he replied nonchalantly. Greg flushed and looked guiltily at Mycroft, but he was still fuming at Sherlock. He supposed they had rushed in to it. It wouldn't hurt to wait... Would it? He took another worried glance at Mycroft.

~

John groaned and rolled over, reaching for the duvet. His bed felt hard and cold, and no matter how wildly he groped for a cover he never found one. Frustrated and still half asleep, he sat up and looked around. His first thought was that he was still dreaming, since he wasn't in bed, but instead was on the floor of his hotel room, Sherlock lying beside him. He hadn't had a dream like that for a while! But as he came round he slowly began to realise that this was real, and some of last night's events came back to him. He remembered getting drunk with Sherlock, and drawing on each other's faces, but very little else.

He glanced in the mirror, then recoiled at the sight. He looked like he'd been hit by a truck! The pen from last night had smudged over his face and there were dark circles under his eyes. He'd also managed to lose his shirt at some point. Allowing himself to fall back on to the floor, John rolled back over and gently shook Sherlock's shoulder.

"Sherlock," he mumbled softly. "Sherlock, you ok?"

Sherlock blinked drowsily, then smiled softly at John. "Morning."

John reached out tentatively to touch Sherlock's shoulder. He didn't know what had happened last night, only that he felt closer to Sherlock now. He could've lain on the floor and stared in to his mesmerising blue eyes for hours, but they had to get up.

"At least we didn't do anything silly last night." He gently squeezed Sherlock's arm, then got up to shower. Sherlock began to pack. Neither of them noticed the veil, discarded in the corner...

~

Irene sighed as she sat down opposite Jim. This film was going to be her big break, the next big thing, but now that was over. She had no idea how she was going to break it to her father. Jim smiled sympathetically.

"So, my film's officially cancelled," she told him. "Although I'm sure you've heard."

"Yes," he grimaced. "What are you going to do now?"

Irene thought about fleeing to Canada and living in a cave with a bear, but that seemed a bit drastic. "I suppose I'll fly back London with you."

"But what about my taxi?" Jim asked. Irene thought about the rickety old cab Jim had acquired through dubious means. She really didn't want to drive it back.

"Can't you take it?" She begged. Jim scowled. "Alright then... We'll both take it back! We can share the driving."

"I suppose that's beneficial," Jim grumbled.

Greg and a very tired-looking Mycroft sidled up to the table. "Morning," Greg smiled. Mycroft picked up Jim's coffee and took a sip, then scowled even more.

"Your coffee is weak. I want some adult coffee." He glanced over at the breakfast buffet. "And all of that bacon." He stalked off, so Jim followed him. Greg quickly sat down beside Irene.

"Irene, I have something really important to talk to you about," he whispered.

"No, I didn't know about John and Sherlock's wedding," she replied in a monotone voice. Greg shook his head.

"No, no, it wasn't that..."

"Then yes, I do think Mycroft's fat."

"What? No! It's not that either, that's mean! He's... He's a little bit chubby, but that's not important, that's not what we're talking about!" Irene laughed, but Greg kicked her chair leg so he could continue. "I nearly married Mycroft last night!"

"Oh! Well in that case, no, he's not fat, you got yourself a good one there buddy," she smiled cheerily.

"Irene! Shut up! And this is serious, we nearly got married last night!"

Greg looked panicked and stressed over the matter. Irene had always assumed he was desperate to marry Mycroft, they were just so happy together. Greg had never stuck with a relationship this long (Irene thought this was due to his desperate pining over Mycroft) and she'd never seen Mycroft happier than when he was with Greg. For a moment she was scared they weren't going to work out, but she told herself that was stupid. They loved each other, of course they'd work out. She couldn't bare the thought of what would happen if they'd didn't.

"Well, congratulations, I suppose?" She offered lamely.

"Thanks, but no. I don't think we're ready. Seeing John and Sherlock made me think we were kind of rushing this. I think we're still at a point where we could stay friends after a breakup, but marriage would completely ruin that. Don't get me wrong, I love Mycroft, so much, and I'm not planning on breaking up with him, but it's just a bit quick, isn't it? I don't know how to tell him that without crushing him, he's literally been waiting to get married since the day he was born!" Greg took a deep breath and looked to Irene for help, which only made her wish she had more to offer. Of course, she was an expert at breakups, one night stands, and how to keep a relationship sexually active, but when it came to keeping a steady relationship going she didn't have much experience.

"You don't have much choice," Irene said honestly. "Either you propose to him soon and you get married, or you explain how you feel and risk a breakup."

Greg's eyes filled with tears he refused to let fall. "I know that," he whispered.

~

"How do I tell Greg I'm not ready for this without hurting his feelings?" Mycroft asked, shoving two mini muffins in to his mouth and chewing angrily.

"I don't know," Jim shrugged.

Mycroft crammed more muffins in to his mouth. "Maybe I should just marry him?" Another muffin. "Maybe I should just marry him," and another, "and be terrified," and another, "and miserable for the rest of my life!"

"That's not a very good idea," Jim said, stepping back slightly.

"You're right." Mycroft put down the muffin he was holding. "I should really leave some room for bacon."

"I meant about the marriage thing," Jim clarified. Mycroft picked the muffin back up and ate it. "But maybe the muffins aren't such a good idea either."

Shrugging, Mycroft began to pile bacon on to his plate. "I just don't want him to think I don't want to marry him."

"But... You don't," Jim said, not uncertain.

"I do though," Mycroft sighed. He imagined marrying Greg all the time. He'd have a smart, black suit with a red tie and Irene would be Greg's best 'man', and Mycroft supposed his would have to be John, because even though he hadn't been invited to his wedding they'd spent hours talking about it as kids. It would be in a pretty hall with granite walls and old, stone floors and if he was lucky a king would've visited it at some point (he would have much preferred a castle, but Greg was adamant they couldn't afford that). There would be expensive alcohol and rich chocolate cake and the music would alternate between classical and hard rock and even Sherlock would be proud of him. Then they'd go to Paris, because Greg always said he wanted to go, and Mycroft loved it there. And it would be perfect. He just wasn't ready to do it all yet!

"I suppose all you can do is give it a shot or try to talk to Greg," Jim said gently.

Mycroft wiped his eyes quickly. "I know."

~

Sherlock was feeling rather pleasant as he walked down to breakfast with John. Last night had started out strange, but gone on to be rather enjoyable, and although he didn't remember it that well he felt good about it. John seemed to be in a very good mood too, and eager to talk to Sherlock, which was more than could be said for him over the past month or so. Sherlock had put the whole Émile ordeal behind him and was ready to move on, and it seemed like John was too.

"Good morning," Sherlock said warmly as he sat down at the table. He immediately sensed tension between his brother and Greg, and excitement between Irene and Jim. Since Irene was going to have to come back to London with them, but had taken Jim's taxi to get here, Sherlock deuced that they were probably taking a road trip together. Greg and Mycroft still looked very happy together, so the tension wasn't about a breakup, probably more the opposite. A big decision in their relationship. Due to Blackpool's popularity for stag nights and weddings Sherlock assumed it was something to do with marriage. They weren't ready.

John poured Sherlock some tea and he thanked him, then took some toast for them from the middle of the table. Everyone stared. John asked Jim to pass the jam, which he did without taking his eyes off the pair of them. John frowned, but went about spreading jam on his toast. Sherlock raised an eyebrow at his brother, who scowled back. What was going on?

"So are you two going to talk about last night or do you just want us to guess?" Greg asked eventually. Everyone nodded in agreement. Sherlock turned to frown at John.

"We didn't do anything last night," he said with confidence. "We got drunk in the room and had a little fun, then went to bed."

"Oh, that was having a little fun, was it?" Mycroft snapped. "I nearly had a heart attack, is that having a little fun?"

"The only thing around here giving you a heart attack is your calorie intake," Sherlock replied bitterly, pointing to Mycroft's mountain of bacon. He was sick of not knowing what was going on!

"Leave him, Sherlock," Greg sighed. "He has every right to be annoyed, you and John got married last night!"

Everyone waited for an explanation, but all that came was laughter. John chuckled happily, grinning at Sherlock. "That's a good one guys, but we weren't in any state to even leave that room."

"John's right, that's a ridiculous suggestion," Sherlock agreed, but his mind was whirring. They must have done something last night, right? Was it really so impossible that they got married? He thought hard about the previous night. They did leave the room, he vaguely remembered that. And they left the hotel, walking down the beach front a little. They'd bought something in a tacky shop, but he couldn't remember what. Sherlock gently ran a finger across his lips; he'd kissed John, but he didn't remember where. On the beach? In the room? Or... Or in a chapel! Sherlock has kissed John in a chapel! And the things they'd bought in the tacky shop were a veil and two candy rings!

John must have reached the same conclusion, because he muttered, "Oh god, we got married!" and put his knife down.

"Well..." Sherlock turned to face the others, prepared to do what he always did when he was angry: make deductions. "Greg asked Mycroft to marry him!" It was a long shot, he wasn't sure that was exactly what had happened, but the look of pure shock on Greg's face told him he was right.

"Yeah," Jim shrugged.

"We already know," Irene added.

Sherlock turned to Mycroft. "Well, of course I already know. It was me he asked to marry him!"

Frustrated that he couldn't divert everyone's attention suitably, Sherlock tried again. "Mycroft's put a lot of weight in since dating Greg, has anyone else noticed that? And it's such a shame he hasn't altered his wardrobe yet, those clothes are beginning to look terribly unflattering," Sherlock leaned close to Mycroft and sneered, "Brother mine." Mycroft stared back defiantly.

"Yes, of course we noticed that," Irene sighed. "I may not be a master of deduction, but I'm not an idiot." Greg kicked her chair leg harshly, sending her flying back from the table. "Hey!" She protested. Jim hunched his shoulders and stared at the table, unwilling to face either Holmes brothers' wrath.

"Just leave him alone, Sherlock," Greg snapped. "It's not his fault you made a stupid decision." Sherlock did feel bad that he was the source of so much self-loathing and discomfort for his brother, but it was just such an easy button to press, and rewarded him with an immediate reaction.

"No, I'm sorry," Mycroft mumbled to the table. "I should've been more careful. Stricter. More in control. I promise I will be in the future."

"No." Greg turned Mycroft to face him, then tucked his fringe behind his ear in that sickening way he always did. "You have nothing to be sorry for, I'm just glad you're comfortable with me. I don't want you to be more careful, I just want you to be happy. I love you, Mycroft." He kissed Mycroft on the forehead. Sherlock pretended to throw up, but secretly he was thankful there was someone to remedy the spiteful comments he made to his brother.

"Fine then." He turned to Irene. "You have no intention of sharing the driving with Jim today, you want to sleep all the way home."

"Oh no you don't!" Jim exclaimed. "You're staying awake if I have to spray you with ice water every five minutes!"

In a final attempt, Sherlock turned to Jim, but found nothing. He chucked. "I'm like Sanskrit written by a five year old. Illegible!" Sherlock slumped back in to his seat.

"So what do you think you're going to do then?" Mycroft asked. Sherlock looked at John. What was he going to do? Of course, he wouldn't want to stay married to Sherlock. They'd probably just get a quick, easy divorce. And Sherlock would cry as if they'd really been married. Because this was what he'd wanted since the day he met John. To be married to him. For them to love each other.

"I guess we'll get a divorce." But John clearly didn't want the same thing. "Or maybe an annulment, we were too drunk to function at the time."

After that the conversation drifted to other things, but Sherlock's thoughts did not. He alternated between daydreaming about what it would be like to married to John and the horror of having to get another divorce, this time from a man he actually loved. Slowly people began to leave the table, until it was only Sherlock and Mycroft left. They sat in silence for a while, as they were accustomed, as it was the only way they could enjoy each other's company. Eventually Mycroft touched Sherlock's arm and said, "I am really, truly sorry, brother mine," then left.

~

Mycroft leaned his head on Greg's shoulder and looked out across the casino floor. He'd never been that fond if casinos, and this one was particularly decrepit, but he'd had quite an enjoyable time with Greg. He found everything much more enjoyable with Greg.

"Y'alright, My?" Greg asked, turning to kiss him on the cheek. "Sherlock was pretty mean to you this morning."

"I suppose," Mycroft murmured, grinning as Greg wrapped both arms around his waist and hugged him. He was normally so strict and controlled with his diets (at least he thought he was. In reality he had far too many cheat days and rewarded himself with cake far too often) he supposed the only reason he'd let that control slip was because of Greg. He felt bad thinking that, almost like he was blaming Greg for his lack of restraint, but really it was a good thing. For a start, he'd never felt happier before in his life, and Greg was brilliant at cheering him up whenever he wasn't feeling so great. And he was always quick to defend him from Sherlock.

Mycroft leaned in closer to Greg. "I love you," he murmured, barely audible over the roar of the casino.

"Love you too," Greg beamed. A pause. "So, about getting married..."

"Are we still going to do that?" Mycroft finished.

"I don't know, it seems a bit tacky, getting married here." Greg looked nervous as he spoke. Or maybe he was just eager to get married. Mycroft shuddered.

"We could always get married somewhere else," Mycroft offered, imagining an extravagant castle in Scotland and Greg wearing a kilt. He liked that image, or more specifically he like what was under the kilt.

"Like a castle," Greg chuckled. "Weddings are expensive, especially with all the amazing things you want going on." He scanned the casino. "Well, how about we just leave it up to fate? You know, like we did last night. Roll a dice, get an eight."

Mycroft quickly calculated the chances of him rolling an eight. He'd been pretty lucky last night, but that's all it was: luck. There was a five in thirty six chance of him rolling an eight. It was extraordinarily unlikely, especially if he wasn't trying.

"I think that's fair," he smiled. They sauntered over to a table and explained their situation, asking to borrow the die. Soon a group of prematurely drunk gamblers had gathered round the table, eager to see Mycroft's roll. He took a quick, sharp breath then rolled the die, eager to get it over with. 5... 3!

There was a huge uproar from the crowd. Mycroft looked at Greg in panic. "Well... Well..." Greg fumbled. "Well it wasn't a hard eight! Last night you rolled a hard eight!" Mycroft was too eager to agree to stop and think about why Greg had said that. The crowd booed.

Mycroft shrugged. "Want to go and pack?" He asked cheerily.

"Sure," Greg responded with a smile, steering them towards the lifts. They stopped at the doors and Greg turned to fix Mycroft's tie, which he'd fastened in a hurry that morning. He'd had other things on his mind.

"We should get you some new clothes though," Greg murmured as he flattened Mycroft's tie against his chest. Mycroft frowned, although he knew Greg didn't mean any malice by it. "Oh, don't be like that, My. I just don't want Sherlock teasing you all the time. And I want you to feel comfortable."

As warm and loved that explanation made Mycroft feel, he couldn't help but tease Greg a little. "You think I'm fa-at," he whined playfully, leaning his forehead against Greg's.

"Shut up, no I don't," Greg giggled. "But so what if I did? It wouldn't matter, I love you." He stood on his tiptoes and kissed Mycroft gently.

"You kinky bastard," Mycroft shot back, though he was still leaning in for another kiss.

"What? For loving my boyfriend? Yeah, real kinky shit, that," Greg chuckled, obliging with another kiss. Mycroft liked being called Greg's boyfriend, he wasn't ready to give that up just yet. But Greg was such a sweet and loving boyfriend Mycroft couldn't wait to say this amazing man was his husband. For now thought he'd just enjoy having an incredible boyfriend. Plus, it wasn't like they were being pushed to get married, right?

The elevator doors opened to reveal a priest holding the bible out, glancing sceptically at Greg and Mycroft who were stood before him, hands clasped together. Mycroft let go of Greg's hands as if they'd burned him.

~

Jim's eyes burned in to Irene's shoulder. He was furious. He couldn't believe she'd fallen asleep. He wanted to melt her with his fiery gaze. The exact fiery gaze he should've been keeping on the road.

Jim swerved violently back in to his lane, the jolt waking Irene. "Sorry," she sighed. "I must've-"

"Fallen asleep," Jim snapped. "We nearly died because of you!"

Irene surveyed the almost empty motorway. "Mm, of course."

Jim swerved again, this time on to the hard shoulder. "Get out! You're driving now," he said.

~

Irene's eyes were heavy. She'd been up most of the previous night trying to deal with John and Sherlock, then they'd all got up early to checkout. Plus, she'd spent the last few weeks staying up late, trying to get odd jobs done about the casino. She was in no mood to drive all the way to London.

Irene opened her eyes with a gasp. Her heart skipped a beat. She hadn't even realised she'd closed them!

As she scanned the road Irene caught sigh of a man in a backpack, thumb stuck out in to the road...

~

Jim opened his eyes slowly. The cool window was pressed against his face and he felt like he hadn't moved his legs in years, but other than that he felt quite refreshed. He was ready to apologise for his earlier outburst and offer to drive again. That was, until he turned and saw a strange man driving his taxi. Then he screamed.

~

Sherlock's hands shook as he reached for the door handle. He could see John sat on the sofa, book in hand, looking perfect as ever. How could he do this? He was finally married to the man he loved more than anything else in the world, and it had all been a drunken mistake. How could he just walk in there and undo that? It's like he'd been given everything he'd ever wanted, but now that he had it he had to destroy it.

Silently, Sherlock slipped inside the cafe and sat down beside John. "Hello hubby," he said jokingly, before his true emotions began to show. He tended to do that, avoiding emotion with humour. He supposed he learnt it from his brother; he was constantly making jokes and perpetually heartbroken. Well, until now. Now he was blissfully happy, and Sherlock despised the fact that he had force himself to be happy for him.

"Hey Sherlock," John smiled, the corners of his eye crinkling. Sherlock thought about his eyes far too much. They were beautiful though, featuring in almost all of Sherlock's dreams. He wanted to wake up every morning looking in to John's eyes, and for them to be last thing he saw every night before he slept.

"You ready for that annulment meeting tomorrow?" John asked. Sherlock's blood ran cold. No, he wasn't ready. Of course he wasn't. For now, right in that moment, Sherlock could sit there with John, John his husband, and pretend they were a happily married couple having a coffee date. But the second that meeting ended, they went back to being friends, never to be more again. How could he possibly tell John that?

"Yes, I suppose I am," he nodded. It had been on his mind for the whole plane journey, and all the while he was unpacking, and for the whole of the walk over there. So to say he was ready for it would be no lie, but he was in no way prepared.

"That's good." John shot him a dazzling smile. "I kind of got the feeling you were a bit upset about something, you were quite on the way home."

Yes, Sherlock was upset. He was upset about what they'd done in Blackpool. He was upset that it meant next to nothing to John. He was upset that it would mean absolutely nothing once it was over. He was upset because this was the closest he would ever be to marrying John Hamish Watson.

"I'm fine," Sherlock said softly.

~

Mycroft leaned heavily against Greg's shoulder, who was laughing in fake annoyance, both arms wrapped around his boyfriend. He just couldn't stay out of an argument, even if it was with a twelve year old on a plane at nine o'clock in the morning.

"Carry me, my ankle hurts," Mycroft whined playfully, tucking his head in to the crook of Greg's neck.

"No, you're heavy," Greg replied, kissing his cheek.

Mycroft huffed. "Well, that's just mean!"

"Fine," Greg chuckled. He scooped Mycroft up and spun him around, laughing at the silliness of the thing.

"Never mind, put me down," Mycroft squeaked. He clung tightly to Greg's neck.

"It's fine, we're nearly in," Greg said, struggling to unlock the door without dropping Mycroft. He thought with a smirk that it must have looked a little like they'd just got married. Married. He turned to Mycroft in horror. His boyfriend must have had the same thought, since he was deathly pale and wide eyed.

"Full permission to drop me," Mycroft said. Greg obliged.

~

Jim took a wary glance at the hitchhiker. He'd forced him to pull over and demanded that he got to drive again, but then had felt too mean kicking the hitchhiker out the car, so he was riding up front. Irene had been demoted to the back seat.

"I can't believe you picked up a hitchhiker," Jim fumed at Irene. He took another glance sideways. "A random, beautiful hitchhiker! He could be a murderer or something!"

"I'm pretty sure you're a murderer, Jim," Irene smirked. Jim thought of the man who had broken his brother's leg. They were only thirteen, and his brother hadn't done anything, but suddenly this man had run at him with a thick stick and smashed his brother's leg. Jim was furious. All his brother ever did was protect him, now it was up to him to return the favour. He picked up a brick and ran at the man, screaming, swinging the brick wildly and without accuracy. It hit its target. Once. Twice. The man wasn't moving, wasn't breathing. Jim's brother was crying, but not because of his leg. He was crying for Jim to stop. Screaming at him.

Shaking his head to clear it of the horrific image, Jim turned back to the hitchhiker. "Do you like riddles?"

"Love them," he beamed, his voice thick with a Polish accent.

"Good." Jim reached behind him and slammed the divider shut.

~

John sat on the sofa, taking advantage of Mycroft's absence by resting his feet on the coffee table, and flipped through a newspaper. He felt a little strange and nostalgic about the whole wedding thing, but he couldn't tell Sherlock that. He was being so nice about it, making the annulment so easy. It's not that John didn't want to marry Sherlock, it was all wanted, really, but not like this. He first wanted a loving relationship, then a memorable proposal, and a beautiful wedding with all of their friends and family. Even if, for some crazy reason, they were to get back together right now, John thought the annulment was still the best idea.

Hearing the door open, John quickly slammed his feet back on the floor. "It's only me," Sherlock chuckled from behind him.

"Oh." John put his feet back on the table. "Hey, Sherlock."

Sherlock stood at the end of the sofa, nervously twiddling his thumbs. John frowned. "What's up, mate? Want to sit down?"

Sherlock moved as if to sit down next to John, then backed up again. "John," he said in a sofa, melancholy voice, "What I am about to say you will probably make you look upon me with less favour. It is immoral and selfish, two labels which I am happy to accept, though less so when it comes to you. I always try to do what is right when it comes to our relationship, and in this instance I think honesty is best."

John listened patiently while Sherlock spoke, although he couldn't quite grasp what he was talking about. Their relationship? Honesty? Honesty about what? Had Sherlock been fully aware of their marriage? For some reason the thought didn't alarm John, he just thought it was rather sweet.

"I think we're going to have trouble getting an annulment," Sherlock said.

"What?" That wasn't what John was expecting. "Why? We were both insanely drunk, away from home, not in a relationship, and we have witnesses. That sounds like a pretty neat case to me."

"Yes, I am aware of those facts." Sherlock's bottom lip trembled. "But at some point I'm going to be asked if I love you. They will expect me to say no, of course, because we're just friends who got married by accident." He took a deep, shaky breath. "But in fact, John, I do love. And it's something I've never been able to lie about. So when they ask, do you love John Watson? I will have to reply, yes."

John felt as though his heart had stopped beating. Sherlock loved him. Not only did Sherlock love him, but Sherlock loved him to the extent where he couldn't annul the marriage. Couldn't he have said something? No, of course not. He was Sherlock, he said nothing and felt everything.

John knew they couldn't stay married though. It just wasn't healthy. If they decided to try and make it work then broke up it would be all the more painful to get a divorce then. Or if they tried and ended up staying together forever John couldn't live with the thought that that was how he'd married the love of his life. It would break Sherlock, something that would physically pain John, but they had to get an annulment.

"Look, Sherlock," John said gently. "I do love you. You know that, you know I love you. But this isn't how I want it to be. We can't get married like this, Sherlock." Sherlock blinked hard, like he was fighting back tears, so John jumped to his feet and hugged him tightly. "I love you, Sherlock Holmes," he whispered. "But we have to get this annulment."

Sherlock didn't say anything, and it was tearing John apart.

~

Jim's arm tingled with warmth as Jacob, the hitchhiker, gently laid a hand on it. "That's the train station," he said. Jim pulled over. "This is where I must leave you."

"Ok," Jim sighed sadly.

"Hey." Jacob gently touched Jim's cheek. "I have your address and phone number. I'll be in touch."

"Well," Jim smirked, "I have your name and the fact that you're a drifter, so the ball is pretty much in your court."

"Of course." Jacob patted Jim's hand one more time. "Goodbye." Jim waved as Jacob made his way over to the train station.

"Can I please get in the front now," Irene yelled, banging on the divider.

Jim opened it. "No."

"Please, Jim," she begged. "I know I violated your trust. I know I misused your cab and I misused you as a friend. I'm really sorry. I just didn't want to wake you or fall asleep and crash the car. I was half trying to do what was best, at least. I'm sorry."

Jim nodded a little. "I suppose, if I'd have seen a hitchhiker that cute I would've picked him up. You can get in the front."

Irene grinned.

~

Mycroft held the bouquet of flowers up near his face and grinned at Greg. "I thought it would be nice to put some flowers in the flat," he said. John began to laugh and Mycroft scowled. "Surely you can't be so sexist, John, as to think we can't have flowers in our flat?"

"No," John smirked. "It just looks like you're getting married, what with the suit and all." Mycroft dropped his flowers on the floor. "Fine, be like that. Enjoy your handful, Greg," John shot over his shoulder as he left.

"Should we just," Mycroft stepped over his flowers, "Should we just do it? Should we just get married?" He voice sounded desperate, pleading. For the first time in his life he wanted to be told what to do.

Greg climbed over the back of the sofa and took Mycroft's hand in his. "Look, My, I really love you. You know that, you're everything to me." He kissed Mycroft warmly on the cheek. "But I'm not sure if I'm ready to get married yet. I love being your boyfriend, and I'd be honoured to marry you one day, but I just don't think today can be that day. I'm sorry, please don't break up with me!"

Mycroft breathed a huge sigh of relief and buried his face in Greg's shoulder. Greg didn't want to get married either! And he didn't want to break up with him! He was so ecstatic he almost forgot to reply. "Thank god," he mumbled in to Greg's neck. "I was terrified that I was going to have to marry you. I'm not ready for that, either. But I do want to, some day."

"Yeah, some day sounds good," Greg purred, kissing Mycroft. He slipped his hands under Mycroft's shirt, caressing the soft skin on his hips, and pushed him gently against the table. "This. Doesn't. Work," Greg said between kissed. "You're. Too. Tall. To lift. Sexily. On to. The table."

Mycroft stopped kissing Greg and burst out laughing. It was true, since he was sat on the edge of the table with both feet still planted firmly on the floor. "I can lift you sexily on to the table if you like," he giggled.

"Shut up," Greg smirked. "But if you want to..."

Mycroft lifted both feet off the floor, allowing the flimsy table to tip so that he fell in to Greg's chest. "Don't you dare make any cheesy pick-up lines," he whispered as Greg wrapped his arms around him.

"Don't worry, you've already fallen for them all," Greg beamed proudly. Mycroft groaned and snuggled against Greg's chest. He'd always been told he had a rather bitter sense of humour, but Greg seemed to bring out the best in him. They always laughed at the stupidest little things when they were together.

"Hey, I've thought of something," Greg said. "I like it here, and I love you, and I really love fooling around with you during the day." He paused to kiss Mycroft again. "So when I unpack, how about I do it here?"

"Well, then some of your stuff would be here, what if you need those things?" Mycroft asked. He felt like there was a deeper meaning in what Greg was saying, but he didn't understand.

"Ok, how about if I put all my stuff over here?" Greg tried, tucking Mycroft's fringe behind his ear. "How about that?"

"That would be an ever greater inconvenience." Mycroft pressed Greg's hand against his cheek. "Then all of your stuff would be here, and you would have to come over even if you just needed your toothbrush."

"Aww, you beautiful idiot." He kissed Mycroft on the forehead. "You beautiful, beautiful idiot. How about if I put all my stuff over here and ate all my food over here and slept here every night and lived here, with you?"

Mycroft's face brightened as he finally understood it. Greg wanted to live with him. He wanted to wake up every morning beside him and make breakfast with him and straighten his tie before he left and rush home to see him. The thought made Mycroft feel warm inside. "I would like nothing more than for you to live with me."

"Well, now that touching moment's over; wanna fuck, roomie?" Greg asked playfully.

"Ah, now there's just one thing I would like more than you living here," Mycroft smiled. "I should lock the door though, the last thing I want is Sherlock coming in." He picked up a key from the counter, then had an idea. "How about you go outside, then unlock the door with this key? It's a sort of tradition when people buy a new home, opening the door for the first time."

"If you like," Greg said, taking the key and kissing Mycroft on the cheek. "But I'll be quick."

"Splendid." Mycroft locked the door behind Greg, then waited for him to open it again. And waited. And waited. And waited.

Finally, a muffled voice came from the other side of the door. "Umm, My? I think the key's broken in the lock. I can't get in." A short pause. "This isn't a sign that we shouldn't live together, is it?"

"No, no!" Mycroft panicked. "I really want to live with you, I really do!"

"It's ok, we'll call a locksmith or something," Greg said soothingly. "I will live with you, Mycroft Holmes, whether this door likes it or not! I love you, My."

"I love you too, Gregory."

~

Sherlock checked his watch once more before heading in to the cafe, but it was for nothing. John wasn't there. Sighing with relief, Sherlock sat down beside his brother, who was happily devouring most of Greg's cake while he chatted with the barista. Upon seeing Sherlock Mycroft panicked and tried to pretend he hadn't just eaten his entire daily sugar intake in five minutes, but Sherlock had other things on his mind.

They had asked him if he loved John Hamish Watson. Did William Sherlock Scott Holmes love John Hamish Watson? Yes. That's what Sherlock had replied. He had sabotaged John's life for his own selfish fantasies.

"I couldn't do it," Sherlock whispered, turning to his big brother for support. "I couldn't tell them I didn't love John."

"Oh Sherlock," Mycroft sighed, wrapping his arms around Sherlock's shoulders. Sherlock clung to his brother, grateful for his constant warmth and reliability.

"I couldn't do it," Sherlock choked again, tightening his grip on Mycroft to the point where he became uncomfortable. "But please, Mycroft, don't tell John."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaand it's over, you made it through more trash, congrats! I've finally sorted out my requests, there's two more I need to finish before my exams starts which are: S5E15, where Sherlock finds out about Mystrade and S9E16, where Jim and Seb break up for a bit.
> 
> I found an old story and decided to put it on here about young Holmes bros (not very long) so you can read that if you like.
> 
> I've still got my super long Mystrade fic and although I love it it's a lot of work so I guess I'll just see in summer :/
> 
> Hope it's not too long until I next update, just remind me if I take too long :D
> 
> Thanks for reading :)

**Author's Note:**

> Hope that was ok :) if you want to request an episode for me to write please fell free to comment/leave an ask on my tumblr, which is @its-not-sher-locky-day (terrible name, I know!) and I'll be more than happy to write it. If I don't have any requests then this story will be a VERY slow update due to it not really having a necessary plot and at present no one actually reading it. Sorry :/
> 
> One last thing, just to clear it up for the future:  
> Sherlock works in a criminology museum.  
> John is still a GP, because I can't combine fashion and medicine.  
> Greg works in an accounting/tax fraud branch of police (I dunno, but it doesn't really come up, does it?)  
> Mycroft works in a food hygiene regulations section of government.  
> Irene's an actress, but hired for slightly more raunchy roles than Joey.  
> Jim's a consulting therapist.


End file.
